


The Swan

by waitfornight



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Swan Lake Fusion, Antisemitism, Artist Erik, Canon Jewish Character, Character Death, Erik Plays the Piano, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Holocaust, Homophobia, Kindertransport, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Time Skips, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 98,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfornight/pseuds/waitfornight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night. </p><p>Swan Lake AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to [Sophia_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee) [(tumblr here)](http://sophiabee.tumblr.com/) for her beta work on a huge portion of this fic and to [widgenstain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/pseuds/widgenstain) [(tumblr here)](http://widgenstain.tumblr.com/) for providing the German and Yiddish translations. <3
> 
> Thank you also to [avictoriangirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl) for the amazingly beautiful cover art seen [here](http://avictoriangirl.tumblr.com/post/113200857979/cover-art-for-the-swan-by-the-lovely-waitfornight). To [chazstity](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/) for her extremely beautiful and moving artwork seen [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/117880342701/the-swan-is-probably-the-most-beautiful-fic-ive) [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/118338117986/honestly-if-i-had-the-time-id-draw-the-whole-of) [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/120808840656/if-you-like-cherik-then-the-swan-by-waitfornight) and [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/125388793841/words-cant-explain-the-love-i-have-for). To [lynnfinne](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/) for the stunningly gorgeous artwork [here](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/post/125175268830/fic-rec-one-more-time-the-swan-several-weeks-ago). To [Mikanskey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey) for the gorgeous drawings [here](http://mikanskey.tumblr.com/post/121773334938/mikanskey-this-new-fanart-is-to-illustrate-a) and [here](http://mikanskey.tumblr.com/post/127411073353/mikanskey-this-is-the-first-time-i-draw-2). To [shadow-drawings](http://shadow-drawings.tumblr.com/) for her beautiful artwork [here](http://shadow-drawings.tumblr.com/post/121940887441/the-swan-by-waitfornight). And to [Mellifluous Dreams (Eeverith)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eeverith/pseuds/Mellifluous%20Dreams) for the incredibly beautiful cover/poster art [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4570182/chapters/10407504). I’m incredibly grateful to have received such unbelievably beautiful art, thank you all so, so much! <333
> 
> The forest scenes were inspired by the song [Towers of the Void](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=402zEqY5-pk) by Brian Reitzell.

“Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?  
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -  
An armful of white blossoms,  
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned  
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,  
Biting the air with its black beak?  
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling  
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall  
Knifing down the black ledges?  
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -  
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet  
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?  
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?  
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?  
And have you changed your life?”  
― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

 

  
   
_1939, March,_ _Devonshire, England_

 

His anger and his despair drove him to the cliffs, where he imagined voices calling across a distant shore. The grey sea and the wailing of the gulls was to him in that moment, beautiful and grieved; the gulls' cries stumbling against the waves. He threw his raging screams to the sky to join them, shut his eyes and let the wind carry all his dreams away.

The wind rushed past him, leaping from the cliff, taking his soul with it, far out to sea. His wild heart, for a fleeting moment, beating too fast and too painful in his chest. He stood, arms outstretched with the wind swaying him dangerously forward, feeling like he just might fly. When he opened his eyes again, the sun had sunk beneath the cloud bank, washing him in blush and gold as the day wore thin. The gulls floating above him like dead leaves on the wind.

If he hurried now he might make it home just before nightfall.

Though he had no desire to return home.  _Home_  was a long way off and he wasn't even sure he had a home anymore.

He and his sister Ruth had only been living with the Markos for a little over three weeks now and already he itched under the skin. A deep ache in his heart that gnawed at him in the night, turning him in his bed while everyone else was fast asleep.

Erik's mother had kissed him twice, holding him tightly in the misting rain in front of the train station while he insisted in vain to her that he didn't want to go. She had cried openly and his face crumpled. He told himself later it was the rain that dampened his cheeks while he watched his mother, down on her knees in the crowded train station, hold his sister tight to her chest, whispering that everything was going to be all right. The jumbled noise and chaos of the crowd mostly drowning out the sounds of Ruth's tears. All around them families were breaking apart.

_'I'll come back,'_ he said,  _'I swear to you, I'll come back.'_ She squeezed his hand once more and Erik forced himself to pry Ruth away from their mother and board the train out of Poland. He carried nothing with him but a small suitcase containing his best clothes, the ones he usually wore to synagogue, and a manila tag with his name and a number pinned to his shirt front. He remained in stone-faced silence for the entirety of the trip, Ruth clinging to him, weeping against his shirt.

The Markos had volunteered themselves as a possible foster home for child refugees. At sixteen years old, Erik barely managed the allowance past the border. The Movement for the Care of Children from Germany selected foster homes for the displaced, not looking too closely into the motives of the families, only ensuring that the prospective home be clean and the family respectable. The Markos were nothing if not respectable.

_'You're lucky to have a foster family,'_ Edie told him, voice small but steady, and he hated that she had to make herself strong for him.  _'Not everyone is going to be so lucky,'_ she said, stroking his cheek.  _'Now you be good to them, and be useful, like you are for your father and me. Be sure to look after your sister, she'll need you, and don't...'_ She searched his face for a moment before whispering, as if the very words were too dangerous to set loose now,  _'Don't use your gift where anyone can see, Erik.'_

He scowled, turning his face away and she gently turned it back to face her.  _'It's too dangerous now; it won't last forever but...for right now, please, for me, please control it.'_

He gave way beneath her watery eyes.  _'Yes, Mama.'_  He would be strong too. Inside he felt like he was dying.

Kindertransport was the name given to a series of efforts to rescue mainly Jewish children from Nazi Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and the Free City of Danzig and get them safely into Great Britain.

The transported groups usually traveled by train to the Netherlands, then on to the British port, Harwich by cross-channel ferry from the Hook of Holland. From the port a train was scheduled to take the children with waiting foster families to Liverpool Street Station in London, where they were to be met by their foster parents.

The tension and fear had become a palpable thing, living and breathing and ever watchful under the growing threat of Hitler's Reich. Erik wanted so desperately to do something, anything to help, his fear morphing into rage when his father had been taken by Nazi authorities just after the Kristallnacht. He had felt it, the thing that lived inside him, sputtering and sparking to life, but for his mother who had latched onto him pleading it had died down once more, sleeping coals that only needed turning under a bed of ash.

Shortly after, Erik's mother received word that the British government would waive certain immigration requirements, permitting the temporary admission of unaccompanied Jewish children entry into Great Britain.

Erik promised himself it  _was_  only temporary. He  _would_  see his parents again. Once the crisis was over Erik and Ruth would be free to return home.

It was becoming harder and harder to keep the belief in that promise alive.

Erik felt his anger leech away into despondency and shame, he had no choice, he would have to go back. Kurt and Sharon Marko were certain to be less than pleased with him when he returned, Kurt especially, and  _oh_  wouldn't Cain take a great joy in that.

When Jewish children were placed into their foster homes they almost certainly would not be Jewish homes. Erik was no exception.

He thought though that perhaps the Markos might be supportive of his faith, considering they had volunteered to foster Erik and his sister. He discovered just last week, when he requested he and Ruth be allowed to attend the closest synagogue in Exeter for Purim, and was denied, that he had thought wrong.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky, the Markos after all weren't a danger to him, and despite the glimpses he had of Kurt's chilling anger he wasn't afraid.

Kurt and Sharon Marko had wealth far beyond anything Erik could ever have imagined, their Devonshire manor vast and sprawling on the 14,000 acre estate. A home that was more like a castle, mired in history and as Ruth had insisted on him, probably haunted.

Surrounded by formal gardens that held no appeal to Erik, but would probably delight Ruth when in bloom in just over a month's time. Erik had always preferred the messier, wilder garden his mother had planted behind their home in Poland.

The woodland garden on top of the hill though, butting up to the tree line had drawn Erik on his first exploration of the grounds. The main reason being the Markos' Devonshire manor was almost completely swallowed from view by forestland. Forestland Erik was forbidden from stepping foot in.

So he had gone to the garden on top of the hill and peered into a forest that was dark and deep.

The house itself overwhelmed Erik with its excessive grandeur, its many halls and doors, rooms and passages. When Erik and Ruth grew bold enough to explore the house they had stumbled across a bedroom that must have belonged to a boy nearly Erik's age, decidedly not Cain Erik realized. The room was smaller than most in the house, closer and warmer in its confinement of itself, filled with treasures Erik didn't understand. Fossils, dried and pressed plants and small trinkets collected and kept safe in boxes hidden under the bed, so very different from the polished perfection found everywhere else within the house. The deep shelf inset in the wall was filled with books Erik rifled through but didn’t bother to read. When Erik pressed he learned the room belonged to Sharon's absent son Charles, who was from a previous marriage and would be away for some time at boarding school.

Erik was both drawn to and repelled by the room, it seemed like Charles had been gone for a very long time, the room melancholy and forgotten, like only a ghost lived there now. Erik shaken by the strange feeling that came over him late at night that the house was whispering its secrets to him.

There was one thing in the house though that Erik had tried unsuccessfully to stifle his excitement over. He had found the Markos' parlor grand piano, sunlight glinting off its mahogany body in a massive room with gleaming wooden floors and windows looking out into the forest on all sides. When he let his fingers ghost across the keys it had sang for him, bright and silvery, warmth flooding him so suddenly he had to close his eyes.

His parents had never been able to afford a piano but they had a neighbor, Mrs. Sawicki, who owned one and she had taught Erik how to play in exchange for his help with her outside chores.

Cain, always shadowing Erik and Ruth to report any wrongdoing, discovered Erik's love for the piano immediately, giving the Markos a subtle way of punishing him when all else failed. Now when they were displeased with him, they forbid him from playing it.

Ruth had clung to him always in the first week, tiptoeing into his room in the middle of the night to crawl in his bed.

_'You’re too old for this,'_ he said on the third night without opening his eyes.  _'You're nearly eight.'_

_'It's too big, Erik. There could be anything in this house and you would never know.'_ Her voice was smaller in the dark.

She plastered herself to his side, shivering, and he said nothing, just stroked a soothing line down her back. 

_'I want to go home, Erik,'_ she whispered,  _'I miss Mama.'_

Once he was certain she was asleep, he admitted to the pressing dark,  _'So do I.'_

Ruth had warmed after Sharon offered to take her shopping, buying her dresses and shoes Erik's parents could never afford, and because they had had to leave all their belongings behind, a new doll Ruth had excitedly shown to Erik the moment she came through the door.

Erik had been forced to select new clothes as well, or more, new clothes were chosen for him by Sharon and Kurt, who insisted that if he were going to be staying in their house he look up to par.

_'This will match your eyes, Darling,'_ Sharon cooed to him, holding a grey suit jacket up against him.

His own clothes he refused to part from. Sharon shaking her head in confusion while Kurt fixed him with a glare, Cain gleeful at his side.

_'You are not wearing those things in our house,'_ Kurt told him.  _'You will look presentable. Take Cain here for example, any young man would be proud to look like Cain.'_

_'You won't be needing them, Sweetheart,'_ Sharon tried to amend Kurt's irritated tone.

Erik stubbornly refused, his clothes being the only things left to him. In the end he won out, he was allowed to keep them, but banned from wearing them in the house. It was a rule he frequently broke, like right now, he was wearing one of his own sweaters, threadbare and ragged, but it was soft and he pretended it still smelled like home.

If Erik thought before that he and Ruth were no more than opportunity for the Markos to appear charitable to their friends, he was absolutely certain now. Today was his seventeenth birthday, the Markos presenting him with a suit he hadn't wanted and was to wear for his party that night.

Sharon had laid it out for him on his bed while he had been helping the gardeners prepare the spring annuals for planting. When he had come inside to wash up Ruth told him they were having a party. She was already dressed in a pale pink dress with matching ribbons in her auburn hair and gleaming white shoes. In any other setting Erik would have thought her lovely, but right then, knowing Sharon Marko decorated his little sister like a living doll rankled him.

When they had tried to decide on what Erik would like for his birthday present he had thought longingly of the canvases and soft brushes his parents had saved up to buy him one year, that he had been forced to leave behind when he left Poland.

The Markos gifted him with new dress shoes, the black sheen of them so glossy it was like looking into two small mirrors.

When he forced himself to dress and go downstairs to meet the first of the Markos' guests for the evening they had appraised him and his sister closely before congratulating the Markos on such a fine job. Because really it must not have been easy working with such meager stock. Each new guest was more of the same. Praising Kurt and Sharon for being so graciously charitable, and weren't these two poor children lucky to have such hospitable hosts. Wasn't Ruth adorable and wasn't Erik just dashing in his fine suit, not as dashing as Cain of course but dashing nonetheless. Kurt and Cain gave off the impression of a couple of preening peacocks while Sharon grew steadily drunker at their side, and it wasn't even nightfall yet.

Erik had silently gone upstairs after the fourth guest, stripped himself of his suit, dressed in a pair of plain trousers and his favorite sweater, and dug around until he found his old shoes. Then he had gone back downstairs, the shocked mutterings of the guests and Kurt's angry voice following him out the main doors.

He was seething at first, now he just felt lost as the damp and chill of encroaching night closed in on him. The setting sun cast shadows far bigger than himself against the hills as he trudged his way back to the house. Lights flickered on in the faraway windows of little houses, golden and merry, drawing Erik's attention and he wondered what life was like for the people living inside. Until he turned down the lane leading him back to the Markos and their ridiculous party and could no longer see them.

The closer he drew the more knotted his stomach became, forcing him to a stop just short of the garden path, breathing slowly and wishing furiously things had been different. He wondered where his father was now and his mother, and how it had happened that he and Ruth became a charity case for people with more wealth than they knew what to do with.

He thought of helping his mother in their small kitchen while his father built a fire in the soapstone wood burner, branches hissing and snapping, the flames dancing in the fireview casting thin and strange shadows along the walls. The stove would radiate heat for hours into the night after the fire had died, warming Erik, who slept soundly in his bed.

The sudden lilting trumpet call from a single swan shook him from his thoughts and he watched as it wheeled the sky far above him, the last rays of light from the dying sun turning its white feathers a pale luminous gold. The swan lifted higher on the wind, glided above the Markos' manor house and disappeared from view over the forest trees.

Erik felt the weight of everything he had lost, of everything he may never see again.  _'You have to let it go,'_ the swan seemed to cry.

When Erik finally plodded his way to the front lawn where he could gaze in through the great windows of the Markos' home, his eyes landed on Cain, grinning broadly and obviously doing some kind of impersonation, of  _who,_  Erik could only guess, causing the guests of Erik's  _'birthday '_ party laugh.

Erik grit his teeth. By the time he decided he had had enough the light had fled, leaving him doused in the purple-grey of twilight.

He stalked away from the windows and past the path that would take him in through a back entrance, and instead made for the hill leading into the forest.

The hard and fast rule the Markos had was that he and Ruth stay out of the forest. In the space of time it took Erik to watch Cain making a mockery of him he had begun to feel the pull of something he had no words for, a sharp spike of sudden longing running parallel to his anger, dragging his attention from the window and to the forest. He settled on a decision almost instantly. He was ordered to stay away from the forest, so into the forest he would go.

He didn't hesitate when he broke the boundary of the tree line, feeling a sensation that was like pushing through the fine strands of a spider's web brushing across his face.

Here the damp seemed to permeate everything, the smell of mossy earth pungent and thick. He didn't know what compelled him to continue on. Only that every time he thought about the fact that he was being foolish, traipsing around in the forest just before dark and that he should turn back before he got himself lost, he felt a need so suddenly insistent, it was too great to ignore. Something nearly intangible fluttering across his cerebral cortex, guiding and pressing him forward.

The thick carpet of moss beneath his feet silenced his footsteps as he picked his way carefully over rock and raised entwining roots. All around him it grew darker and darker, the minutes passing in a slow melding of shadows and twisting trees. The deeper he went the closer the trees grew, their gnarled fingers catching and pulling on his sweater until they finally gave way for him, spilling him out into a large clearing.

Not far from where he stood was a dark lake lapping gently against the shore, the near black water twining away into the trees on the other side of the clearing. To his left there was an abandoned stone chapel, taken over by moss and ringed almost in entirety by the remains of gravestones long forgotten, their broken and crumbling shards jutting from the earth and though he could not see them, he felt certain the spirits of this place watched him. He shivered, standing very still and listening to the far off call of an owl somewhere in the forest as the last vestiges of light in the clearing faded.

He had no idea what he was waiting for, thinking suddenly that Kurt Marko, if he weren't going to be angry with Erik before, would be furious with him now. The thought suddenly whisked away as the silence was broken once more by the fluting trumpet of a swan.

The swan appeared from over the top of the trees, almost ghostly in the way its white feathers seemed to glow now that night had fallen. It dipped down toward the lake and Erik could hear the whispery rasp of its wings as it descended, ripples extending out from its body as it alighted on the water.

The swan drifted close, arching its elegant neck to regard Erik silently, floating just off shore, the feeble light of the rising moon gleaming pearlescent across its feathers and as Erik continued to watch, his fascination transforming quickly into horror, the swan began to change. Its wings extended out and its body shuddered and twisted, it trumpeted out only once before it stilled and sank beneath the water. Erik took a careful step closer; he could just make out the pale mass of it not far below, a mass that was quickly resurfacing. He stumbled back with a small cry that he immediately silenced as the swan broke the surface.

The swan was a swan no longer.  

Now there was a boy, not at all graceful like the swan had been, splashing until he reached the shallows, where he hunched over for a long moment, breathing evenly. Erik's eyes following the gentle ridges of his spine before the boy straightened, meeting Erik's gaze curiously. Where feathers had been there was now smooth, water-slicked skin, pale and illuminated under the gauzy white light of the rising moon, his dark hair sodden and dripping in wet tendrils.

Erik didn’t know what to say, suddenly aware of how cold the boy must be standing naked in a lake at the end of March and he began pulling his sweater over his head. The boy made to step up on the mossy rocks of the shore once Erik had the sweater off, his blue eyes soft and large when he held his hand out for Erik to take.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The world had gone soft, painted in the deep blues and greys of night, moonlight pooling at Charles’ feet. The atmosphere heavy with the dank smell of lake water and decomposing leaves unearthed by the spring thaw.

His fingers were cold and tentative where they curled around Erik's hand, anchoring himself and letting Erik haul him out of the water. Nearly stumbling into Erik once he was on solid ground, his legs shaky and wobbling for a moment until he regained his feet, reacquainting himself with his human body. His newly naked skin feeling vulnerable under Erik's stare, shivering lightly and erupting in gooseflesh under the caress of chilled air.

He accepted Erik's silently offered sweater with a small upward curl of his lips, his eyes wide and searching Erik's face, drinking him in. Aligning his mental image of Erik with his physical self, his long gangly limbs reminding Charles of a colt not yet grown into itself, his face still soft over hard angles and edges, his hair the color of dark stained wood, softly framing eyes like the sea after a storm. Charles dropped his gaze, fumbling with the sweater and could still feel the warmth of Erik's hand where he'd touched him. Unsure what to say now that he had him there, disbelieving Erik had come to him at all.

Erik for his part was equally too stunned for speech, the strange feeling of urgency from before fading. His mind caught up in the crystal spun imaginings that had only ever lived within his dreams, brought to life in a blur of feathers and pale skin.

He remembered the old stories his father used to tell, late in the evening when Erik accompanied him to the woods to section apart a dead, fallen tree for firewood. In early winter, with the silent snowfall dusting his hair and kissing his face, turning the land into a glittering canvas of white. Stories about spirits who lived in the dark places of the world where no one dared to look.

Folktales old and worn, given to Jakob by his father before being passed on to Erik. Woven into life by his voice, rich and deep by the side of the woodstove, rocking in his favorite chair, Ruth held securely in his lap while Erik grew heavy and lethargic where he sat on the floor, watching flames lick at the charred wood, soothed into a doze.

The memory was so strong he could nearly hear the wood crackling, smell the cedar smoke, could see his father laughing fondly because they're just old stories after all, here beneath soft moonlight with a boy who had only moments ago been a swan.

I’m dreamingErik thought as he looked all around, the trees reaching for him, ready to draw him back into the forest, the sound of the dark lake lapping against the rocks, the stone chapel,  _this boy_.

"No - you're not," the boy chuckled lightly, head inside the confines of Erik's sweater, reappearing a second later grinning, his wet hair darkening the shoulders. Erik gaped at him. The boy was practically swimming in the too large shirt. It belonged to Erik’s father, taken and hidden among Erik’s best clothes before he and Ruth set out from Poland.

Erik's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the words, spoken in an accent that belonged in the Markos' manor house, addressing a thought Erik knew he didn't give voice to. His emotions warring between fear and anger while he wondered if this was all just a nasty trick. The boy's eyes were gentle and he looked like he might reach out and touch Erik, so Erik took a pointed step back, cautious and unsure.

"I promise you," the boy said, "it's no trick." His feet carried him slowly backwards away from Erik, granting Erik more space before he turned and steadily made for the looming shadow of the chapel. He stilled just past the first row of gravestones, their angular shadows stretching across his bare legs when Erik heard his voice plain as day inside his head.

 _Aren't you coming?_ It was hesitant, lighter than the brushing of a moth's wing.

"I can hear you - inside my head," Erik stammered, fear prickling down the back of his neck as he fought the instinct to flee. The urge nearly overwhelming and pumping adrenaline through his veins, making his hands twitch at his sides with the want for movement. But there was something else almost as strong tamping down the urge, keeping him rooted to the spot, whispering in his blood that he was meant to be here.

"I know, Erik," the boy replied without looking back and he was moving again, his damp feet stepping gingerly through the graveyard, sinking down into the moss before he reached the stone steps and the dark of the chapel swallowed him up. Certain Erik would follow after him without waiting to see.

Fighting against fear, feeling too curious to turn back now, Erik did. His eyes roaming in all directions, chasing after every moving shadow, every tree branch that shifted with the wind, expecting a ghoul behind every gravestone he passed.

Wandering up the stone stairs and standing on the porch beneath the archway with only the sound of his own breathing for company, he hesitated. Beyond the door, open and gaping and long since rotted away, the dark felt like a living thing and he knew that once he crossed the threshold there would be no going back. If Kurt could see him right now, he thought, a strange pleasure forming at the idea of him red-faced and spluttering at Erik's disobedience. The image earned him a laugh from deeper in the chapel, bright and warm and he felt a bit calmer suddenly, safer, though he didn't understand why.

In the following silence he could hear a match striking stone, his gaze latching onto a small flame wavering to and fro, casting an orange glow upon the boy's face where he was kneeling before a stone altar. Carefully guiding the tiny flame onto a wax candle resting on the pitted surface, then another and another, until gentle light flickered throughout the space.

Erik drifted uncertain through the doorway, the sound of his shoes jarringly loud to his own ears. He froze just shy of the descending stairs, wringing his hands together and watching as the boy pawed through a pile of clothes discarded at the base of the altar before rising back to his feet, dragging Erik's sweater off and revealing the entirety of his pale skin once more.

The moon, risen higher now, trickled through the fragmented remains of the apex arch, bathing the boy from behind with an unearthly light, offset by the warm wash of the candles down his front. Quickly turning away, giving the boy his privacy, Erik began exploring the chapel.

It resembled a magpie hoard. Twigs bundled together on the floor that Erik assumed must be meant for kindling. Empty clam shells, feathers from every different bird, small animal bones. On closer inspection Erik discovered the skeletal remains of a bat laid out across an open book detailing mammalian evolution and mutation. His eyes sweeping out across the remaining books littering the floor, weathered and piled up high, while his thoughts shouted over and over,  _Who are you? What are you?_  

When he turned he found the boy dressed in a pale blue button down and dove grey trousers, watching Erik closely. His dark hair a wet unruly mess from trying to sop away some of the moisture, Erik's sweater clutched closely in his hands.

"What are you?" Erik heard himself ask, something akin to wonder and terror hiding behind the words.

The boy hugged Erik's sweater tighter to his chest, his eyes flitting back and forth between Erik's before he licked his lips once and answered, "I'm like you."

Erik shook his head, not understanding and frowned when the boy shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare.

"I can – read your mind," the boy said carefully, looking slightly apologetic. "Quite well actually, you can be rather loud and – I felt you, out there, beyond this place. You were so  _heartbroken_ and  _so angry_ and I - I've never felt anyone like you before, so I – tonight when you were out walking, I just..." He dwindled off, his hands worrying away at Erik’s sweater.

"You read my mind?" Erik asked sharply, interrupting the boy's struggle to explain.

"Yes," the boy answered, apology in his tone.

"How?"

"I told you, I'm like you, only instead of manipulating metal, I can read minds."

"You - " Erik cut himself off, eyes widening in surprise. No one knows he reminded himself, he’d controlled it since coming to England. Keeping the thing living inside him bedded down and slumbering, envisioning the fear all over his mother’s face while she pleaded with him, knowing if anyone found out now it would be a guaranteed death sentence.

"It's all right," the boy said softly, "truly, I'm like you."

It took a few moments for Erik to find his voice, never once considering the possibility that there could be others out there like him. He stared at Charles with large, disbelieving eyes. “I thought I was alone.”

"So did I," Charles admitted with a crooked flash of teeth. "But you're not Erik, do you understand? You're not alone."

Erik released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his fingers raking anxiously through his hair. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyes still glancing all around the chapel, feeling unnerved and needing to reassure himself again that there wasn't anyone else or  _anything_  else there with them.

"Charles," the boy answered without hesitation. "Charles Xavier."

Erik nodded slowly, his eyes resting contemplatively back on Charles before he glanced distastefully once more to the expanse of the chapel behind him. "And you live  _here_?"

"No,” Charles said, chuckling again, “this is just where I come when I want to be alone." He took an uncertain step forward causing Erik to eye him warily, hesitating before holding Erik’s sweater out. “Do you want this back?"

" _Oh_ ," Erik said softly, his eyes combing over Charles' thin clothes that he imagined did very little to abate the chill. "No, that’s all right, um, you can keep it for now.”

Charles smiled gratefully and pulled Erik’s sweater back on. Huddling within it as he sank down to the floor and leaned against the altar stone, where he drew his knees to his chest and looked up at Erik expectantly. Erik remained frozen on his feet.

"I never expected someone like you to show up here,” Charles said when Erik still showed no sign of trusting him. “No one  _ever_ comes here anymore, not since my father died and Kurt took over anyway."

Erik frowned at Kurt's name, looking at Charles guardedly. Kurt had discovered Erik in the unoccupied bedroom on the third floor just one time. His coal black eyes flicking around the room in derision before finding Erik crouched on the floor.  _‘This room was always so slovenly,’_  he’d said crossly.  _‘Made shipshape though it’d make for an excellent closet.’_

Erik asked Sharon about the room at dinner that night, absently rolling peas around his plate in a way that made Kurt grind his teeth. Sharon had laughed nervously while from across the table Cain grinned like a cat that’d swallowed a canary as she’d told Erik that Charles was off at boarding school.

"Hardly," Charles snorted.

Erik's eyes grew in terrible shock, suddenly seeing Charles anew, a shiver stealing over him once he realized who this boy was. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you living in the house?" he asked, sounding baffled and lowering himself to the floor finally to sit cross-legged across from Charles.

"It's complicated," Charles said and when Erik scowled at him asked, "What about  _you_? You’re living in my mother’s house. Why are you here?"

"The Markos are my sister and I's temporary foster parents," Erik said defensively. "I don't  _want_  to be here but my father was arrested for no good reason by Nazi authorities and my mother insisted I take my sister and go where it's safe. We arrived here from Poland about three weeks ago along with a bunch of other kids sent away by their parents. Personally, I rather liked my home so if you think I’m enjoying –”

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles interrupted him calmly, “it’s all right, I was only asking. I just hadn’t gotten the full picture from you yet but I understand why you’re here now.” His eyes softened with sympathy and Erik bristled at the sight.

“You  _don’t_  understand,” Erik said resentfully, before Charles had a chance to tell him how sorry he was. Half the people working in the Markos' colossal house had done nothing but tell Erik how sorry they were and he was sick of hearing it.

"No?" Charles asked, fixing Erik with his blue, blue eyes. "Are you so sure? You know I too lost my father."

"I didn't  _lose_ my father," Erik spit, growing furious at having to explain himself to another of the Markos' spoiled brats, it had been bad enough dealing with Cain in the first week. "It's just  _temporary_ ,” he practically snarled. “We'll be together again soon. Papa, Mama, Ruth and I will all be together again soon."

"I'm sorry," Charles said, looking shaken by his outburst, "I didn't mean to imply that your father –”

"Don't," Erik said with a quick shake of his head. "Don't talk about my father."

"I'm sorry," Charles repeated. "I didn't mean anything by it, really, just that I know what it's like to feel like you're all on your own."

Erik fell silent at that, hearing the genuineness of Charles' tone and felt marginally guilty as some of his iciness thawed. He was being unfair. Sharon’s son or not, Charles had behaved nothing like Cain and was living proof that Erik wasn’t a lone anomaly, something Erik couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around. He might have been a little rash in thinking Charles a spoiled brat, he decided, looking back at the oddities Charles had gathered up, reminiscent of all he had found in the untouched bedroom. Charles’ ears had grown pink and he looked away from Erik timidly when Erik considered him again. Realizing Charles has been listening in on his thoughts with a mix of irritation and another twinge of guilt. Unsure how to feel about all his private thinking laid out for Charles to sift through and still not entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming.

“I won’t read your mind if you don’t want me to,” Charles told him honestly, “but I can’t always help hearing you, not with you being so noisy.”

Erik studied Charles’ eyes for a long moment, weighing the truthfulness there and finally deemed him trustworthy, for now anyway, he was still wary but willing to give Charles a chance. Especially when he thought of how hard it must be living with the Markos when you don’t meet Kurt’s expectations of what a boy should be. He looked out across the chapel again before his eyes found their way back to Charles, who was watching Erik with a hopeful expression. From what Erik knew of Kurt, Charles had likely fallen short one too many times and Erik wasn't entirely certain if Charles was telling the truth about not living here because Kurt seemed only too likely to throw someone out of his house for even the slightest abnormality and especially for something as peculiar as mindreading or sprouting feathery wings.

“He didn’t,” Charles said, “at least not exactly and I really  _don’t_  live here.”

Erik frowned hard at him but before Charles could apologize for gleaning the thought, Erik sighed, resigning himself to Charles’ gift. _You can hear my thoughts?_ he asked, pushing the words clumsily at Charles, deliberately testing him and readying himself for the strangeness of a voice replying inside his head. Frowning again when Charles only winced and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," Charles answered, rubbing at his temple, "though I did tell you, you can be rather loud. We'll have to work on projecting, otherwise you'll give me a headache."

“Sorry,” Erik said, battling away a small smile. “So…you've known I was here since I arrived then?"

"I've been calling you for days," Charles confessed sheepishly.

Erik had nothing to say to that, thinking of all the times he'd been drawn to the woodland garden, wondering what lay past it and why it was forbidden. The niggling feeling of something just out of sight watching him, following his retreat all the way back to the house.

Outside the walls Erik could hear the wind picking up, the trees creaking and groaning in torment. His eyes lifting back up to Charles who was staring back at him wistfully. “Why aren’t you living in the house?” he asked again.

"I told you, it's complicated."

"So you get to know all about me but I don't get anything from you aside from you telling me you can read my mind and that you're able to transform yourself into a swan," Erik huffed. Something in the way Charles looked at him then made him regret everything he'd just said.

" _I_ can't transform myself into a swan," Charles informed him evenly, staring at Erik like he was the biggest idiot Charles ever laid eyes on.

"I saw you..."

"Yes," Charles agreed, "but I can't control it and I  _certainly_  didn't choose it."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't always like this," Charles said. "You’ve seen my room. When I was younger I lived in the house you do now."

Erik pictured the little out of place bedroom again, lonely and forgotten, he's been in that room at least a dozen times now. Cain catching him once while he leafed absently through Charles' books. Cain’s voice startlingly loud when he said from the doorway,  _'You'd make a perfect set if you were to ever meet, the two of you; an absolute nutter and a manky Jew.'_

"It's all right," Charles said, shaking his head, "Cain's always been like that, you grow used to it."

Erik could tell there was something very wrong in all of this but Charles offered him no explanation, just continued staring at Erik as if out of all the curious things he’d discovered in the forest, Erik was the most remarkable. So Erik held his gaze, trying to sort him out and couldn’t help himself from noticing how the candles shone eerily in Charles’ eyes or the way the moonlight laid down a silver halo against his hair.

Here the forest seemed to be gifting Erik with the friend he’d been longing for so badly, especially since arriving in England. Kept softhearted beneath the shelter of trees and waiting for Erik to claim. Someone who was like him, who knew what it was like to feel separate from everyone else. Who knew what it was like to be different. Someone he could talk to, who would understand him. Someone who wasn't only seven years old, like Ruth. Someone who was most definitely not Cain. Erik tried to stomp the tiny roots of hope seeking out purchase within him, aching for a chance to grow and failed.

"If you can't transform yourself into a swan," he said, worry gnawing at his stomach, “then who…?” he trailed off, hearing Sharon’s tittering voice,  _'Charles is away at boarding school,'_ and Kurt, hard toned and sneering,  _'Lucky thing that he is, boy’s always been a menace.’_ What had they done and why had they offered themselves up as foster parents when they had clearly found Erik displeasing right from the start? He looked at Charles, ready to demand the truth from him but Charles he saw had gone strangely ashen and very still. The shock of second-hand fear twisting Erik's gut as Charles leapt to his feet, peering up at the apex arch. A tense moment passed where Erik heard nothing but the sound of the wind carding through the trees, his body coiled tight and ready to spring away from any threat. The seconds ticked by slowly before he finally felt the wave of Charles' relief wash over him, ebbing his fear away.

"Reed warbler," Charles laughed tremulously, turning back to Erik. "It's only a reed warbler."

"You're afraid of a simple night bird," Erik said, cocking one eyebrow as Charles resettled, something Erik couldn't pin down swimming in the depths of Charles' eyes. "What?" he asked, the brief spell of mirth fading.

"Some night birds are dangerous," Charles said quietly, looking down at his hands. And Erik thought that was ridiculous but he could feel Charles in the peripheral of his thoughts, so wispy as to be nonexistent, hoping for Erik to unbury the truth and not abandon Charles once he has.

Minutes passed away and neither of them spoke. Erik watched shadows creeping all along the stone walls and listened to the wind whistling shrilly through the trees. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to ward away the damp chill, his voice quiet and small but practically deafening to his own ears as he shattered the silence between them.

“My father was arrested simply for being Jewish this past November," he offered Charles softly, “taken a week after the Nazis started burning synagogues in Germany. There were all these homes that were broken into and destroyed. A lot of people were murdered and the police did nothing to stop it. They just...watched."

Charles stared back at him in horror, his eyes falling to the floor when he realized Erik was trading him one nightmare for another. "My father killed himself when I was very young," he told Erik in return, still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry -" Erik said but Charles shook his head, his eyes far off and gleaming when he finally did look up.

"My mother remarried Kurt not long after. I was excited at first, Kurt had a son, and I thought...never mind what I thought," he smiled sadly. "I started hearing voices when I was nine. Mother thought I had gone mad, so she and Kurt took me to a doctor in London but no matter what anyone did I didn't get better. If anything I got worse," Charles said faintly and Erik could tell he was trying to reign in his emotions, trying to keep them private and tucked away where Erik wouldn’t catch them. Flashes of Charles' memory flickered like a film reel behind Erik's eyes. The doctor diagnosing Charles with schizophrenia, prescribing electroconvulsive therapy that had Charles seizuring in his restraints. When that failed to yield the desired results they tried hydrotherapy, submerging Charles for hours on end in an ice bath.

Erik couldn't stop the shudder from wracking him, feeling the air shocked from his lungs as if he's the one being forced under the frigid water. He swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry. "My sister and I weren't allowed to go to school anymore," he said once Charles stopped speaking again. "It got to the point where Mama wouldn't let us leave the house because it was too dangerous for us to go anywhere. When our neighbor, Mr. Sawicki was arrested, his wife committed suicide...Mama started trying to make arrangements for Ruth and I to get out of the country after that."

"Erik," Charles said brokenly, his eyes lost but Erik just kept his gaze steady, patiently waiting and Charles breathed and nodded. "Kurt told Mother it was hopeless and that I needed to be locked up. “ _It was terribly embarrassing for them_ ,” he said and Erik could hear the doctor telling Kurt and Sharon that all treatments have failed but there was another option they might try. Lobotomy had recently been performed to great success on a living patient and promised immediate results. "Mother was hesitant to have me committed, she couldn't decide on a place least likely to be discovered by any of her friends."

Erik flushed with rage, the Markos and their god-awful friends. He wanted to march back there right now he thought, and give them a show they'd never forget. Charles stared at Erik, his eyes wide in admiration, his tongue darting nervously across his reddened lips, and Erik could feel him; the tender brush of Charles’ mind against his, meant to quiet and soothe and only serving to make Erik angrier.

"Kurt made the decision for Mother in the end. He'd met a man from his work with my father, Sebastian Shaw, who he confided in. Sebastian claimed he could cure me but that everything was to be done under his conditions. Mother and Kurt agreed. Sebastian came for me when I was eleven, I didn't understand what was happening, Mother never told me, and I never read it in her thoughts, not until that day." He spoke quickly, the fear, pain, anger, and betrayal bleeding from him and into Erik and Erik could see the scene unfolding like he was there. Charles wailing, cornered in the library. Sharon like a statue guarding the doors, painted red lips set in a firm line, Charles' elbow gripped tight by Kurt when he'd tried backing away in fear from a man with a fox-thin face, his pale blue eyes fixed eagerly on Charles, teeth bared in a false smile.

"What happened?" Erik asked gently when the memory faded.

"Sebastian became my keeper and brought me here. There's a stone cottage deeper in that used to be one of the servant dwellings. Sebastian's lived there ever since the deal was made. As long as he's able to cure me and keep anyone from ever finding out then he's allowed to remain on the property."

"And you?" Erik asked. "You live there too? With him?"

Charles nodded gloomily. "I tried escaping back to the house so many times, I don't know what I thought I was doing. Kurt despises me and Mother can't stand to look at me, not when I'm..." he trailed off, pointing to his head.

Erik felt sick, imagining a mother having done all this to her own child and Charles' lips twitched, attempting a smile for him.

"I became too much of a handful for Sebastian,” Charles said. “One night while I pretended to sleep, I could hear him speaking to himself, strange things and I felt...different somehow. The next morning I thought I was dying but Sebastian told me everything was going to be all right and I...changed.”

"How -?" Erik said, breaking off when Charles shook his head.

"I don't know how he did it, he won't tell me. What I do know is that each night I get to be myself again but it never lasts, in the morning I'll change back into a swan."

"They know, don't they? Kurt and your mother," Erik said numbly. "They know what he's turned you into."

"Yes," Charles said, "they know. There's a reason you're forbidden from this forest...Actually you should have been warded off right from the start. Sebastian's done something to it, you see. It's meant to keep people away. They grow afraid, believing there are demons haunting here." Charles chuckled, sounding a bit like himself again. "Do you know you're the first person to step foot here in ages. You aren't affected the way others are." Charles studied Erik's eyes for a long moment. "You're the first person I've ever met who's anything like me. I always knew there had to be others. I'd hoped there was anyway."

"But what about Sebastian? What is he?"

"Sebastian is different too, like us but...not the same."

Erik wanted desperately to go home to his mother. If Charles could come back with him then maybe they could...

"I can't," Charles insisted. "It's part of Sebastian's curse. I can leave the forest only as a swan but I need to make it back before nightfall, if I don't, I won't change back into myself again."

"You couldn't leave this forest with me right now?" Erik asked, stricken as Charles shook his head sadly. "If my parents knew about this," he said, looking at Charles helplessly.

"I know," Charles smiled, "but your parents aren't here, Mother and Kurt are...and Sebastian."

"What does he do to you?" Erik feared the answer.

"Truthfully? Nothing, despite his big promises to Mother and Kurt he doesn't seem to have much interest in me. Leaves me alone now most times."

"But I thought he was supposed to  _cure_ you," Erik's voice caught hard around the word.

“That was the idea, yes, but aside from all this he's never laid a finger to me. He says when I reach my majority he's going to set me free.”

Erik turned a skeptical eye on him, not understanding what Sebastian got from all this if he has no real interest in curing Charles of the voices inside his head. But there was something in the look Charles gave him that let him know enough not to voice it. Instead he asked, "When do you reach your majority?"

"When I turn twenty one," Charles said longingly.

Erik frowned.  _Twenty one_. "How old are you now?"

"Fifteen."

"You have to wait that long and he's already had you here all this time!" Erik said, incredulous. "And Sharon, your own mother, does she ever visit you? Does she even -?"

"Erik," Charles warned, “don't all right, I've made peace with it. Sebastian hasn't been all bad, honestly. He's far better than the alternative at least. He even allows me to have these books here so I can continue learning and so I'll have something to occupy myself with while he's away."

"Oh no, not bad at all then," Erik snarled. "He just keeps you imprisoned here is all but it's good to know he makes up for it by letting you keep your books in an old run down chapel."

"Stop that," Charles insisted quietly and Erik relented, sighing heavily.

The moonlight faded in and out, disappearing and reappearing through breaks in the billowy clouds, suddenly dowsing Erik and Charles both and Erik watched as his and Charles' shadows stretched up along the wall, reaching toward the ceiling. "Why were you so afraid earlier?" he asked finally.

Charles' head tipped back, his eyes scanning the apex arch. "Sebastian's able to change himself into an owl at will. Sometimes he visits me here, flying in through up there," he gestured above to the arch.

"An owl," Erik repeated in disbelief, his entire night growing stranger by the minute. His eyes left Charles, still gazing up at the arch to focus on the bouncing flames of the candles caught up in a sudden draft of air. He'd heard an owl somewhere in the forest tonight, the image coming to him unbidden; great yellow eyes stalking his every movement. Razor talons swooping over him on silent wings. Erik might never know he was there until it was too late. He wondered what Sebastian might change him into if he got the chance.

"He shouldn't be back for another week at least," Charles said, "I just worried he might have come back early."

"If he doesn’t hurt you, then why were you so afraid he was here?"

"It's not me I'm afraid for," Charles said, "it's you. Erik, he can't catch you here." And after snaring the idea from Erik's mind, "and you mustn’t threaten Mother or Kurt. You won't help anything that way." Charles searched his eyes pleadingly, "Please, if they know you've been here they'll never allow you to come back. If Sebastian ever finds out you've been here -" Charles shook his head, "Please, just promise me, Erik."

"I could help," Erik said, ignoring his plea, "together we might -"

Charles was already shaking his head. "No, Erik," he said, resolute and firm, "no one can know."

Erik sighed once more, supremely irritated now, unable to help  _anyone_  it seemed, he hunkered in on himself and glared at nothing, waiting until he trusted his tone to remain neutral to ask, “The cottage you live in, where is it?”

"There's a river that flows into this lake, if you follow it through the trees you'll find the stone cottage."

Erik nodded, lapsing back into silence, the weight of the day pressing down on him. His mother told him he would receive good fortune on his birthday, if he were still home, he and his parents would have recited a prayer thanking God for the previous year. But now, picturing his new suit shucked off on the floor by his bed, Sharon, with her wine glass gripped tight and Kurt growling after him as he'd slipped out the doors only to meet a boy trapped in a prison of feathers and trees, the idea of good fortune seemed laughable.

"That's right," Charles said quietly, startling him, "it's your birthday."

“There’s not a whole lot you don’t know, is there?”

Charles smiled very gently. "Tell me about your life in Poland," he said, shifting further down the altar stone and stretching his legs out in front of him, his cold feet brushing against Erik's shin. He looked tired now, having upheaved too many secrets or maybe this was just time he’d ordinarily spend sleeping, Erik wasn’t sure.

"What do you want to know?" he asked distracted, resisting the disturbing urge to chafe warmth back into Charles' feet.

"Anything," Charles murmured. "Tell me about your parents, your sister, your school - I was never allowed to attend school. Always had a private tutor," he yawned, his eyes sliding shut, a shiver juddering his small frame. By the time he opened his eyes again, Erik's reservations had gone and he was crawling forward, giving in to the desire to comfort Charles and probably himself he realized belatedly. Settling himself in next to Charles against the altar and turning his head to blow out some of the candles where they rested too close. It was safe and easy now, like they'd known each other for years. Charles muffling a faint, pleasured hum against Erik's shoulder for the heat radiating from his body, relieving the chill sunk deep into his skin.

"Your mind is beautiful," Charles mumbled absently, and Erik blushed, holding completely still while Charles arranged himself alongside him, pushing his feet under Erik's legs. Starved for touch and wanting reassurance, he twisted his hand in Erik's shirt. "Tell me about discovering your powers," Charles' sleepy voice said finally, once he'd settled, "with your father, tell me about that."

"You know about that?" Erik asked, still not sure he could stand to talk about his father, not right now, not after what's happened.

"You think of him often," Charles said softly, "and it's one of your favorite memories with him. I can feel you holding on to it, keeping it safe."

"If you already know," Erik said, "then why should I tell you?"

"You need a happy memory right now," Charles said, tired and slow, "and so do I. Please."

Erik sighed and looked out across the chapel, into the black emptiness of the doorway, hearing the trees rustling in the wind, the sudden frightful shriek of a fox close by making him tense. Charles chuckled quietly, his body loose and soft as he cuddled closer and Erik relaxed again, pulling out memories like looking through the black and white images of a photo album. His voice a low lilt as he told Charles about the day he first made a diecast metal toy submarine fly across the backyard.

Erik's father worked as a tree feller, taking Erik to work with him once during the spring log driving, Erik watching the river fill up with timber rafts. Still able to recall the feeling of all that metal whispering to him, the pull of it singing in his blood. The tight drag of the cable lines, the grapple skidder as it closed its jaws around a newly felled log, the brattle of the saws slicing through timber and the smell of freshly cut pine filling the woods.

Later in the evening, with the sun cradled low over the trees, he sat at the picnic table in his mother's garden, fidgeting with a restless energy. Trying to keep his hands steady enough to sketch out the turtle he'd found near the creek, frowning each time the turtle grew bold enough to reveal itself from the safety of its shell and started making for the edge of the table.

 _'Fine,'_ Erik sighed, taking the turtle in his hands and towing it back to the creek where it disappeared into the cattails.

On his journey back across the yard, passing beneath his treehouse, he'd felt it; small and insignificant and impossible to resist. Climbing up the rickety ladder and snatching it off the platform, he opened his palm and stared at his little toy submarine.

Once he dropped back on the ground he carried it back to the picnic table where he turned it over in his hands again and again, compulsion bubbling over inside him. He set it down on the table and backed away a few feet, extended his hand and called it to him.

It was hovering three feet off the ground when his father rounded the corner of the house, eyes widening in surprise when he caught the glint of it sparkling in the setting sun.

Erik panicked, letting the submarine drop like a stone and tore away across the lawn and up into his treehouse. His father's gentle voice coaxing him back down again, Erik's toy held out in his hand.  _'Can you do it again?'_ Erik did, lifting the toy without a touch from his father's hand and into his own.

Jakob sat Edie down at her table, told her to hold out her hand and stepped away grinning. Her nervous eyes followed him to the kitchen sink before resting back on Erik, shifting from one foot to the other, toy clutched in his fingers. Erik glanced at his father once, who nodded encouragingly, and sent his toy propelling through the air to his mother's waiting hand.

He had a gift they decided, nothing more to it, and Erik felt like a magic sorcerer summoning spoons and forks across the kitchen in practice. His amusement drying up when his mother made him her kitchen assistant, setting his new skill to work slicing carrots for her pot roast, swiping him lightly with a towel when she heard him muttering under his breath.

Erik's voice cut out, a familiar ache blooming inside his chest. He didn't even know where his father was now, or his mother for that matter. A few more of the candles had gone out on their own, the light inside the chapel growing dimmer and he angled his head slightly, trying to get a better look at Charles, peacefully asleep, the damp warmth of his breath caressing Erik's neck.

He didn't know what to do. Somewhere in a cottage Charles likely had his own bed but instead chose to stay curled at Erik's side on the floor of an abandoned chapel and all Erik could do now was provide him with a warm, solid presence to shelter against. He remained awake the entire night, unmoving except to touch his fingers to Charles', just once where they were wound in the fabric of Erik's shirt.

In the starless dark before dawn he heard the trilling chorus of a blackbird and felt Charles' mind, that had been like warm bath water enfolding him through the night, recede. The gradual loss of it left Erik feeling strangely cold and empty.

Charles mumbled something unintelligible, sliding against him before cracking an eye open and groaning. "You should go," he said, his voice sleep thick, "it's almost morning."

Erik didn't want to go back to the Markos. He wanted to get Ruth and take her and Charles anywhere but here.

"You have to go, Erik," Charles told him, contrite, "I'll change back soon."

"Yes, all right," Erik conceded, feeling the ache of loss more keenly once Charles disentangled himself, putting chilled space between them once more.

"Will you come back to me?" Charles sounded hopeful, stilling Erik in the act of stretching out his back after a night on the hard floor.

"Yes," Erik answered, not even bothering to stifle his grin.

"You'll have to be careful not to let Mother and Kurt know where you're going of course, and if Sebastian comes back then -"

"How will I know?" Erik frowned. "How will I know when it's safe to come back here?"

"You'll know," Charles told him, "you'll be able to feel when it's safe. I'll help guide you."

They stood facing each other before the altar, blackbirds now joined by marsh wrens. Charles looked to the doorway then back to Erik.

"Do you want your sweater back now?" he asked, small and quiet.

Erik smiled. "You can give it back to me later."

Charles nodded, brushing his fingers against the soft fabric and Erik made for the doorway. He was surrounded by gravestones and the dusky grey light of dawn when he heard Charles behind him.

"Erik?" Charles was standing on the bottom step of the porch when Erik turned around, arms wrapped around himself and shivering in the morning air. "Happy birthday, Erik," he said softly, making Erik smile gently all the way back to the trees.

It was harder getting out than it was getting in with the trees clawing at him, trying to turn him all around. With persistence he made it back to the forest edge just past the woodland garden, making sure no one was out on the grounds to see him walking out of the trees. Assured everything was still and calm he broke out onto the lawn just as the golden, green light of dawn painted over him, soaking warmth back onto his face and turning his hair to fiery copper.

He was hurrying to the path leading to the back entrance, his large strides slowing to a halt when he felt the aluminum body and steel ladder frame of Kurt's black 1937 BMW barreling up the drive, as sleek as the day it was driven off the lot. He debated making a run for it when the car floored suddenly into view, spraying gravel and facing Erik down on the drive, growling at him before the engine cut off. Kurt's hulking shape bursting out the driver's side a moment later.

"YOU!" Kurt bellowed, face a purple mask of rage, one meaty finger pointing to the house, "INSIDE, NOW!"

Racing ahead of Kurt he heard Charles far above him, trumpeting and soaring over the trees, and tipping his head back, could see the pure white feathers of Charles' breast, gleaming bright in the morning sun as he rode the wind back out to the coast.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to [Sophia_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee) for the beta!

"How  _dare_  you embarrass us like that," Kurt spat, spittle bursting past his teeth and spattering Erik in the face. Erik blinked, sinking a little deeper into the sofa and lowered his head, his eyes following Kurt's shoes as they paced back and forth across the wooden floor awash in sunlight. The luster of them shining and bright and near hypnotic to Erik’s eyes. They were as perfectly glossy as the ones gifted to Erik, polished to a mirror sheen and not a speck of dirt on them.

"We open our home to you, give you everything you could possibly want and  _this_  is how you repay us."

Erik said nothing, just lifted his eyes cautiously to Sharon, hoping for her to amend Kurt the way she had before, and found her plopped down woozily in an upholstered chair, frowning and trying to focus on him.

"Darling, if you're unhappy here," she slurred and Erik knew she was still drunk from last night.

"Do you realize I had to go out and search for you  _myself_?" Kurt seethed. "Because of you, I didn't get a decent night’s sleep and let me tell you right now," he pointed at Erik, his face changing colors, going from flushed to bright red from lack of breath, "if you think you're going to stay out all night and just slink back in here and laze the day away, you have another thing coming."

Erik could see the shadows of the trees even from all the way in here, stretching across the lawn and straight through the arch windows, reaching for him. He wanted desperately to just cry out that he knows. He wanted to shake Sharon and tell her he knows exactly what she's done to her own son, wanted to see them squirm and try and deny it. He didn't. Because he realized they don't know where he'd gone off to last night. They don’t know he’d broken the hard and fast rule of the house and discovered Charles hidden away, kept secret and buried as surely as those forgotten in that graveyard. He stared past Sharon, fixing his eyes on a glowing fleck of sunlight on the blue wisteria wallpaper behind her and he doesn't see it at all. All he could see was Charles. Strange, trembling like a leaf Charles, as pale and otherworldly as a ghost risen beneath the moonlight, looking at Erik like he couldn’t believe Erik was real, lonely and hopeful Erik will come back to him again.

"We've been too lenient with you, that's what it is. Boys like you," Kurt appraised Erik coolly, "working class type. You need to keep 'em busy otherwise they start getting ideas and pretty soon they’re walking all over you."

Erik’s eyes flicked instantly to Kurt’s and Kurt paused in his pacing. His gaze piercingly dark and full of contempt as he assessed Erik, looking like he’d just found a rat scurrying across the room and its spoiled the grand perfection of his house. Erik thought very suddenly of his father, dirtied and wearied after a long day, smelling like pine and earth. His eyes crinkling warmly as he kissed Erik’s mother at the door and ruffled Erik’s hair. Kurt had never known a hard day’s work in his life he thought, digging his fingers into the cushions and narrowing his eyes at Kurt in disgust.

"Don't you look at me that way,” Kurt rounded on him, stepping close into Erik’s space and casting his shadow over him.  “I'll wipe that look clean off your face, do you hear me?"

Erik bit his tongue.  _Don't say anything you'll regret. Don't_ ** _do_** _anything you'll regret. Best to lay low and wait it out. Come on, you can do it._

"Here's what we're going to do," Kurt continued, his eyes boring into Erik. "Since you are so ungrateful and since you are so keen on looking like the help, there's planting in the garden that needs doing.  _You_  will assist with that. Also the stables could use mucking and  _you_  will assist with that too. And finally, my boy, the trainers have recently received a prize mare all the way from Derbyshire."

"Lovely animal, beautiful chestnut, simply breathtaking," Sharon told him amiably, as if Erik were simply one of the ladies from the country club over for brunch, as if Kurt wasn't stalking the room, red faced and puffing.

"That mare is to be my son Cain's new riding horse and today will be his first ride. You will in fact be test riding her first. If all goes well then you will be Cain's personal groom for the remainder of the day."

Erik's eyes grew in horror.  _"What?"_

“Oh,” Kurt sneered, looming above Erik, “listening now are we? Well, you could do with spending more time with Cain. Spend enough time with him and you may even be so lucky as to have him rub off on you. Might even learn to act civilized.”

Erik bit the inside of his cheek so hard he felt certain it would bleed, his knuckles gone white from gripping the edge of the sofa, resisting the urge to spring at Kurt.

"When Cain decides you are finished, you will wash up and receive dinner in your room, is that clear?"

Erik looked once more to Sharon who smiled back drowsily and swept himself angrily to his feet, keeping his spine perfectly straight. He was as tall as Kurt, much thinner, ganglier, but tall enough to look him straight in the eye.

"And another thing," Kurt said, unblinking, his voice low, "you will not make any trips to the music room, do you understand? You are being punished and if I find you've disobeyed me even once today, I'll give you a rapping you won't soon forget."

He stared hard at Erik and Erik knew what he wanted. He was waiting for Erik to utter,  _'Yes Sir.'_  Not a chance in hell Erik thought. When it became clear he would remain silent, Kurt exhaled shortly.

"The gardeners should be setting up out back, so go on now and join them," he grumbled, glaring at Erik's back as he went stiffly from the room.

*

He was on his knees and up to his wrists in fertilizer when Ruth found him, twisting the hem of her dress and gazing down at him softly. She has their mother's eyes, he thought suddenly, smiling at her and blowing a strand of hair off his forehead.

"They're angry with you," she said quietly and he nodded.

"They are."

"Where did you go last night, Erik?"

He squinted back down at the dirt, it was ready, turned over into soft, loose soil, picked clean of rocks. Through the fringe of his hair he could see Donald, the Markos' garden curator, hauling away a full wheel barrel to be used as part of a rock wall.

"I found a graveyard and met a ghost," he said seriously, lifting his eyes. Trying to fight back the amusement when she paled.

"I'm only kidding," he chuckled, "I went out walking last night."

"All night?"

"All night," he nodded, wiping his hands off on his thighs.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"Why won't you wear the clothes Sharon bought for you?"

He frowned and leaned back on his haunches, she was still fidgeting nervously with her dress. "I just," he shrugged, "it makes me feel further from home, and I won't pretend to be something I'm not. Not for them."

"Do you think I shouldn't wear my new clothes either?" she asked, staring down at the lavender lace of her dress, worried over Erik's opinion of her.

He breathed out a laugh, "Of course not. Wear your new dresses, Ruth, you like them." He tilted his head, trying to catch her eye, making her giggle when he finally did. "You look beautiful by the way," he said and she hugged him despite his filth.

*

"Perfect isn't she?" Cain said, strolling into the stable behind Erik, staring up at his new prize mare getting tacked up in her crossties. "I've named her Blaze," he said, skirting the horse until he was standing next to Erik. He turned his attention from the horse, scrutinizing Erik and wrinkling his nose. "You smell awful."

Erik glanced sideways at him and held his tongue, before looking back to the stable master finishing up with the saddle cinch. He raised his eyes at Erik just slightly in commiseration.

"All right," he said, addressing Erik, voice gruff and warm, "I'll lead her out into the arena and we'll get you up in the saddle."

Erik nodded, ignoring Cain when he chortled, "I've made a wager with Father. Half a Crown. He says you'll be bucked off in the first five minutes. I said you won't even make it to the saddle."

"Cain," the stable master barked in warning from up ahead of them.

Cain spared the stable master a scathing glance and muttered, "Stupid git,” under his breath.

The stable master turned his head slightly and Erik and Cain both could tell he'd heard. Cain’s teeth baring in a cruel smile and Erik ran ahead to the gate, putting distance between them no matter how temporary. He closed it after himself and Cain once the horse had been led through. Shying away near the fence as the stable master walked her through a couple laps in the center of the arena.

"She's near sixteen hands," Cain said, grinning nastily at Erik. "It's going to hurt when you hit the ground."

Erik ignored him, swallowing his nerves and forcing his feet forward when the stable master lined her up with a mounting block and looked at Erik expectantly.

"Don't pay any attention to Cain," he said, voice low and for Erik’s ears only, watching Erik step up on the block. "You're gonna do fine,” he added, louder this time and Erik could hear Cain snort. “We're just gonna do a few nice and easy laps around and you'll get right back off. I'll be here the whole time, nothing to be nervous over. She's a good animal.”

Erik nodded once, finding his nerve and grabbing a handful of her mane, sliding his foot into the stirrup.

"Nothing to be nervous over," the stable master repeated as Erik raised himself up and settled into the saddle.

“There you go,” he said as Erik got himself situated. “I’ll just lead you around a few times, all right?” Erik nodded and gripped loosely at the reigns, ignoring Cain’s cackle about how terrified he looked.

He remained tense for the first and second lap, relaxing finally by the third, listening to the stable master murmuring softly to Blaze. Her gentle gait providing an easy rhythm for him to sink into and by the time he was led back to the mounting block, he was actually smiling, more so when he noticed Cain glaring.

“Ridiculously easy,” Cain said, pushing away from the gate and striding over to them.

“Well done, Erik,” the stable master said, patting him on the back. “Cain, up you go.”

“I don’t need to be led around like some simpleton,” Cain said tersely, looking pointedly at Erik, “ _I_  can do it myself.”

“It’ll be a bit different from your pony, Sir,” the stable master said, squeezing Erik’s shoulder. “You should allow me to lead you around some first.”

“Unnecessary,” Cain brushed him aside. Pulling himself up roughly and thrusting his hand out for the reigns.

“You’ll want to take it easy, Sir,” the stable master told him, taking a step back and dragging Erik along with him. “Best not to try and run her until she’s had a chance to settle and you’ve gotten to know her a little better.”

“Please, I think I know what I’m doing,” Cain said pompously, urging Blaze forward. He’d made it to the opposite end of the arena when he turned his head to give Erik a snide smirk. “Let me show you how it’s done, Lehnsherr!” he yelled, pressing his heels into Blaze hard to make her gallop. His face changing from proud to petrified in the blink of an eye as she squealed and unseated him without warning.

Cain was backlit gloriously by the sun as he was tossed into the air, looking every bit like one of Ruth’s old ragdolls. Erik’s mouth gaping open in shock as he followed Cain’s ascent, flinching when he fell with a heavy thump, dazed and disheveled and blinking up at the sky.

“Good God,” the stable master hissed, rushing over to Cain’s side.

Erik trailed after him, watching as Blaze trotted back toward the gate, tossing her head in irritation before Cain’s moaning drew his attention.

“I’ll have that animal for –” Cain started to splutter before the stable master shushed him.

“It’s your own bloody fault,” he said. “What did I tell you?” He began brushing the dirt off Cain’s sleeves as he pushed himself up, continuing to gripe.

“Stop whining like that, you’re fine,” Erik heard him say as he turned back around, feeling the breeze flutter through his hair. He was staring back out toward the forest again when the stable master said, “Erik, I think you can pack it in. I don’t think Cain here has any more interest in riding today.”

Erik strode quickly back to the gate and climbed over without looking back at Cain once.

*

Erik shambled in through the servant entrance in the back and climbed the stairs wearily to his room. He was exhausted, not having slept at all during the night. It was still light out but all he wanted now was a warm bath, food, and his bed. He paused outside Ruth’s closed door and when he heard nothing, continued on to his own. She was likely downstairs he realized, probably coaxing a pastry from the cook before dinner.

Once in his room he sank heavily onto the bed, staring vacantly at the far wall. He needed to get back up, he thought, gather his clothes and take a bath. Finally he peeled himself up again and went grudgingly into the bathroom. Sinking down onto the black and white tiled floor while he waited for the clawfoot tub to fill.

By the time he’d finished and dressed his dinner was waiting for him on a tray laid out on the bedside table. Fresh bread, lamb roast, potatoes, carrots, onions, along with rhubarb crumble, Devonshire cream and a cup of tea with milk. He grinned, knowing they had taken pity on him in the kitchen.

He was just about to dig in when he thought of Charles.  _What did Charles eat?_  He remembered last night and how Charles had curled up on the floor without any dinner.  _Was there food in the cottage? Did Sebastian feed him? Did Charles have to eat as a swan?_  He frowned, staring down at all his food and rose back to his feet. He’d slip back downstairs, he decided, already back out in the hall and heading for the stairs.

He’d managed to get ahold of a cheesecloth from out of the kitchen with little fuss and gone back upstairs to his room to start wrapping up his food. After that it was a matter of returning back downstairs and slipping out the back entrance without anyone noticing. Picking up a milk crate on his way out to carry his food in and hurrying back to the trees. Grinning and feeling like a fool with the crate clutched tightly in his hands.

He slid past the trees in exactly the same spot as before, searching with his eyes for any sign of a path he’d created. There was nothing but he wasn't deterred, keeping one eye on his footing and another on his surroundings as he pressed steadily forward. The sun whispered over him as it dappled here and there, spilling in small pools where the branches parted just enough to let the light in, making him notice just how vividly green the forest was. Moss crawling over every surface until it was layered upon itself in vibrant tufts. The branches gnarled and interlocking in varying shades of color and he realized he didn’t recognize any part of it. Growling in frustration when he wound up stumbling into a briar patch and snarling as he wrenched himself free.

_He imagined it_. He stayed out all night in the chilled air and concocted a fever dream borne of his loneliness and desperation for a friend. The sound that left him was nearly a whimper as he leaned up against the rough bark of a tree and breathed, willing his eyes to stop stinging before he went sulking back the way he had come. Plodding through the thin mist that had woken up around him, dampening his shoes and making him shiver.

He’d just barely made it out and was half way across the lawn, moving towards the Markos' manor front pond rather than risk being found out by Kurt, who was likely smoking in the dining room by now, when the swan flew over him. So low he could have reached out and touched it. His face split in a wide smile that revealed every one of his teeth as he turned on his heel and raced after the swan’s shadow soaring swiftly across the ground.

He could feel it now, the same invisible thread, tethering him to Charles and pulling him along through the trees even when he lost Charles from his sight. It took him a little longer without the use of his hands to push away the branches where the trees grew tightly together in a bid to keep him from the lake. But he managed with Charles’ impalpable guidance and made it once more to the clearing, his gift still clutched safely in his hands. He made his way to the lake edge, carefully setting the crate down on the grass and watched as Charles propelled himself across the still water.

There was still light left in the clearing, though it was fading rapidly now, the cool lovely weather of the day that had been filled with warm, streaming sunlight giving away to a hazy gloom. He slid down on the grass and waited for dark, taking in more of the clearing while he had the chance. Noticing how the filmy daylight here did nothing to discourage the moss, it carpeted the ground just as enthusiastically as it did the trees, taking over every surface it touched until the world was softened by green.

Erik leaned forward where he sat, trying to see past the boundary of the lake’s surface and could see nothing, only a churning dark, a small shiver creeping up his spine as he wondered how deep it went and what might lay beneath it. His eyes sliding back up to Charles turning lightly in the water, stark white and growing brighter as the shadows reached out for them.

The damp of the previous night returned and with it the fog Devonshire was so known for. Heavy and wet and spilling out of the trees on all sides. Far off, Erik could hear a low rumble of thunder and he wondered if it might storm, hunching in on himself as the fog hurried over the ground to wrap its clammy hands around him. The sky above him turned murky and overcast, veiling the opaque waxing moon appearing suddenly through a crack in the sky. Night finally closing the curtain on the world and Erik watched for the second time as Charles’ feathery body began to shudder and writhe.

Charles had stayed in the shallows this time, allowing Erik to see the change taking place, Erik staring on in morbid fascination, wincing for how ugly it was. In the fairy tales his father would tell Ruth before bed, princesses under a spell often changed into any sort of creature, their transformation described as breathtaking and magical. What Erik saw now was nothing like in the stories. There was no beauty in the way bone shifted and creaked beneath the feathery flesh, stretching it apart like an ill-fitting costume, tighter and tighter until Erik could practically see the boy fighting to escape its confinement. This gift Sebastian had forced Charles to take looked frighteningly painful though Charles bore it mostly in silence, thrashing in the water until he was recognizable as himself again, finally loosened from the restraint of the swan.

Charles laid with his head tipped back in the water with only his face and the pale jut of his knees visible in the silt he’d stirred up around himself. His eyes were closed and he was breathing carefully again like before, small tremors rippling the water where it touched his skin. Until he pushed his upper body up and turned his head, the water cascading off him in little rivulets, his eyes lighting up when they met Erik’s.

“You came back,” he said, smiling softly and Erik nodded, rising to his feet and coming right to the edge of the mossy shore, bending down and holding his hand out for Charles to take.

Instead of accepting it, Charles shut his eyes and laid his cheek into the warmth of Erik’s palm and Erik couldn’t help himself from wondering if Charles was truly flesh and blood or just a spirit longing to touch the world of the living once more. Feeding on Erik and growing stronger while Erik grew weaker because he didn’t think he could bring himself to deny anything Charles asked of him. Not with how strongly Charles clung to him, pressing and nuzzling into Erik’s outstretched hand, eager for any chance of contact.

Erik couldn’t help it and he didn’t know what prompted him to do it, the strange sense deep within him that they’d known each other before and done this before as he smoothed his thumb across Charles’ cheekbone. Another rumble of thunder, closer now and stronger filled the clearing and Charles opened his eyes.

“You should get out of the water,” Erik murmured, withdrawing his hand from Charles’ cheek, noticing how his lips were a more vivid shock of red for how pale his skin was, nearly tinged blue by the frigid water.

Charles floundered for a moment, slipping on the slick moss and grabbing hold of Erik’s hand to steady himself, letting Erik pull on him until he was safely on land.

“God, you’re freezing,” Erik fussed, looking around for something to cover Charles with and finding nothing. “Why do you change in the lake?” he asked, tugging Charles in the direction of the chapel, practically obscured now by a wall of fog.

“It’s the swan,” Charles said through chattering teeth, “I get overly attracted to water.”

The clearing had become treacherous once enveloped by fog, the gravestones rising broken and unevenly from the twisting, twining mist, the moon hidden completely now behind a mountain of clouds. The thunder grew louder, threatening and ominous and Erik knew it would pour any moment, he could already smell it in the air and feel the patter of an occasional drop against his skin. He let Charles go on the porch of the chapel and ran back for the crate.

Charles had already lit the candles and begun dressing when Erik made it inside. He looked up in the middle of buttoning his shirt, the same pale blue one from the night before, noticing the crate in Erik’s hands.

“What’s that?” he asked, pulling Erik’s sweater back on.

Erik set the crate on the floor near the altar. “Bread, lamb and vegetables, there’s a rhubarb crumble too, it’s probably gone cold by now but it’s –”

“You brought food!” Charles crowed happily, dropping to his knees to inspect the crate’s contents and dazzling Erik with a smile.

Erik looked at him, startled by how delighted he was and nodded.

Outside the clouds burst open, pelting the chapel with fat, heavy raindrops, water leaking in through the apex arch and cracks in the ceiling, staining the floor with puddles.

Charles was senseless to it, digging out Erik’s dinner and arranging it across the upturned bottom of the crate. He stilled once he’d gotten all of it unwrapped, looking up at Erik shyly through the downward sweep of his lashes.

“Go on,” Erik said, joining him on the floor, “I brought it for you.”

Charles flashed him a wide grin and began inhaling the rhubarb crumble, going at it with a fervor Erik had only ever seen from a stray dog he’d fed for three days in Poland before the animal had disappeared.

“You know,” he said amusedly, watching Charles lick the filling off his fingers, “I brought silverware.”

Charles made a noncommittal sound and attacked Erik’s lamb roast. Erik deciding to leave most of his meal to Charles, watching him eat with a mixture of humor and sadness. He picked at the food here and there after Charles paused to stare at him, his mouth full and looking guilty at having devoured most everything on his own. “Eat something,” Charles demanded, satisfied when Erik reached for a potato. Once Charles started eating again, Erik went back to watching him, his attention zooming in on the two freckles dotting Charles’ nose. There were freckles spattering all down the length of his body, Erik had noticed and he wondered if they might darken someday, if the sun were allowed to touch his skin.

“Thank you,” Charles said quietly, finishing off the bread and pulling Erik out of his daze.

“I’ll bring you more,” Erik said, having already decided while Charles ate. He would bring Charles food every night if he could get away with it. “There’s probably enough food in that house for an army,” he admitted, looking at Charles ashamedly.

“There always was,” Charles said, wiping his fingers off on the cheesecloth.

“What do you eat if Sebastian doesn’t feed you?”

“Oh no, he feeds me, it’s just that it’s…” Charles wrinkled his nose up, “not at all like this,” he said finally. “It’s a lot of the same thing over and over again and not much of it, hare, fish, I’ve had a few rodents in my day.” Erik grimaced and Charles laughed. “Do you like frog legs, Erik?”

“No,” Erik said, looking away from Charles for a moment, his chest constricting at the thought of Charles living off scavenged prey while Erik lived up in the house with access to more food than he and Ruth had ever seen in one place.

“Neither do I, Sebastian insists on making me catch them though, I always feel so awful about it.”

Light flared in the apex arch and the open doorway of the chapel, the outside lit as brightly as day, the close crack of the lightning making Erik jump.

“I love storms,” Charles said tranquilly and Erik turned his head away from the doorway to stare at him, finding Charles’ eyes already on him. “Don’t you?”

“No,” Erik said, “the lightning’s always bothered me. I always feel like it’s about to find me.” He shrugged, knowing he didn’t make a lot of sense.

“That’s strange,” Charles said and Erik snorted because honestly, Charles is one to talk.

The rain increased, a constant streaming of static murmuring in the background of their breathing and mute glances.

“Charles?” Erik asked when he felt brave enough, “why does Sharon drink so much?”

“I like to imagine it’s because she feels guilty but that’s not true. She started drinking heavily after my father died and hasn’t ever slowed down,” Charles said, looking down at his hands twisting the cheesecloth. His hands stilling abruptly and he looked up at Erik. “You’re upset. They caught you coming in this morning.”

Erik nodded, “I don’t know how you ever managed to stay…you,” he said finally. “Kurt is – Kurt’s a prick, and Cain,” Erik glared at the floor, “is every bit as foul as his father.” He gaped at Charles when he started laughing, musical and bright.

“You’re going to be all right, Erik,” Charles said seriously once he’d calmed down. “Don’t let them get to you.”

Erik said nothing, just kept studying Charles’ face and listening to the rain lulling him toward drowsiness.

“You haven’t slept at all,” Charles said with a small frown and Erik made an affirmative sound, looking at Charles blearily.

“Why do you stay here?” Erik asked, hyperaware of how hard and cold the floor was, wishing suddenly for a bed. “If Sebastian is gone why not just go to the cottage.”

Charles bit his lip, looking torn. “I would ordinarily, it’s just that you’re here now and it’s safer for us to stay here.”

“We could go,” Erik said, curiosity to see Charles’ cottage creeping under his skin along with the very real want for a soft surface to curl up on. “We could go when the rain stops.”

“It’s safer here,” Charles said again, “if Sebastian were to come back, it’s the first place he’d go, besides,” he said with a smile, “I don’t think the rain’s letting up anytime soon.”

“Well, what do you want to do then?” Erik glanced back around the chapel doubtfully.

“I could read to you,” Charles said, small and timid, “if you like,” and Erik had the feeling Charles knew about all the times Erik’s spent in Charles’ room, leafing thoughtfully through his books.

Erik looked at the piled assortment of books Charles had in the chapel, back to Charles waiting for his answer, and nodded.

Charles chose  _The Call of the Wild_  by Jack London, his voice calming and soft to Erik where he lay on the floor, head pillowed on his arm. His eyes sliding sluggishly open and closed, blinking wide when the lightning crashed again, whitening Charles’ face briefly and making his eyes glow an icy blue. Erik had the light of them seared behind his eyelids when he finally sank down into sleep, listening to Charles describe Santa Clara Valley.

*

The candles threw shadows wildly around the room, restless and dizzy in the wind and Charles closed his book and let it fall to the floor. The sound of Erik’s deep breathing filling his ears, drowning out the rain. He reached out tentatively with his fingers, hovering above Erik’s cheek in a phantom touch, sadness and longing twisting in his gut. His eyes sliding closed as he gave in, stroking his fingers through Erik’s hair, smiling faintly when Erik mumbled sleepily and pressed into the contact. Blinking up at Charles unseeing as he pulled Erik’s head into his lap and continued carding gently through his hair. The soft cadence of Erik’s dreams taking him out of himself and far away from this place, somewhere within the waves of the sea, searching for another shore. Bathed in the warmth of a sun Charles yearned hopelessly to feel again. Knowing that by morning he would release this boy back into the world of the living once more and lose himself to the burden of his wings.

His stomach became tight and uneasy, his heart growing frantic, caged behind his ribs, longing for escape. The air smelled like rainwater and worms rising from beneath the soil, the rankness of it keeping him bound in the here and now of the chapel. Listening to Erik breathe with his eyes squeezed shut, terrified for how badly he wanted to touch and to feel something beyond himself, made all the more desperate by how soft Erik’s hair felt beneath his hand.

In the years before, he would pretend each night that he was staying in a make-believe fort in the forest until each morning the sun rose and broke over him, waking him and setting him back on cold earth and the spell of his fantasy was broken, his world withering away to grey once more. The pain of it as acute now as it had ever been, now that he had these small fractures of time where he was allowed the company of someone roughly his own age. Not just someone but Erik, who was carrying the same unusual secret as Charles and was roiling beneath the surface like an angry sea, beautiful and dark.

He fell asleep sometime after midnight, when the rain had slowed to a drizzle, slumping forward and bowing his head toward Erik, the wind having taken out all the candles, leaving them shrouded in gloom.

*

Erik woke chilled and alone with his sweater pillowing his head. The wind was still blowing and though it was still dark and he heard no birdsong, he knew dawn wasn’t far off. He tried moving and groaned, a crick in his neck and his shoulder twinging, his left arm having fallen asleep.

“Charles?” he mumbled, forcing himself upright, his eyes ranging around the chapel, “Charles?”

_Out here,_  Charles’ answer ghosted wordlessly through his mind, and Erik stumbled to the doorway to find him sitting on the porch steps, just out of the drizzling rain’s reach.

“What are you doing out here?” Erik asked, sliding down to join him, the cold, hard stone making him shiver.

“Just thinking,” Charles said quietly, pressing almost imperceptibly into Erik’s side, staring out at the clearing. Erik frowning to see the rain had fallen faster than the ground could keep up with, water standing all around and the lake beginning to trespass the stony shore.

“Are there paperwhites growing in the gardens yet?” Charles asked, sounding so unnervingly feeble and diminished that Erik focused his frown on Charles instead.

“I  _do_  like paperwhites, Mother always said they were a peasant flower but Donald knew I liked them so he planted them anyway. Have you met him? He’s a very agreeable old chap.”

“Charles?” Erik said cautiously.

“I’d have a garden if I could,” Charles went on, lost to a place Erik couldn't see, the solo chirruping of a blackbird following on his words. “Not perfectly kempt like my mother’s but rougher, wilder, maybe somewhere near the sea, with windows to let the air and light in.”

“Is that where you’d go if you could leave?” Erik asked. “You’d live by the sea?”

“Silly isn’t it?” Charles said, looking down at his bare feet.

Erik shook his head gently, looking down at them too. “No,” he said, watching Charles’ toes curl against the rough step, blanched by the wet cold.

The sky stayed dark with rainclouds, another blackbird joining in with the first and Erik knew he’d have no choice but to walk back in the rain.

“Sorry,” Charles murmured, “I should have known it wouldn’t let up.”

“It’s fine.” Erik looked out at the dismal clearing. He would be soaked through and likely caught tracking mud into Kurt’s fine house but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You want to know something silly?” he asked, ignoring the inevitability of morning. “I used to dream about being a pianist.”

Charles turned his head to look at him. “Why is that silly?”

“Why do you think you’ll never live by the sea?” Erik countered.

Charles laughed, short and humorless and pained around the edges, the brittle, hollow boned creature he was condemned to already impatient to overcome him in the predawn hour. “It’s a bit unlikely considering everything that’s happened.”

Erik gazed back at Charles calmly, reflecting on his scattered family and the fact that he was, as far as the Reich was concerned, a dirty, rotten Jew, and Charles looked away from him, staring straight ahead with wide shining eyes.  _It’s a bit unlikely after everything that’s happened._

The ceaseless babbling of the rain was all around them, water dripping loudly off the overhanging arch and splashing against the moss covered bottom step. Ahead of them, one of the gravestones leaned back precariously before collapsing with a weighty thud.

“You play the piano up in the house,” Charles said faintly, looking sorrowfully at the fallen stone.

“When I can.”

“If you could, would you play it for me?”

“Yes,” Erik said softly, “of course.”

Charles smiled tightly, a bitter longing for the things he knew he would never have gripping his insides, knowing in his heart that he would never set foot beneath the sun or feel the salt spray of the sea again. Sebastian would leech the life from him until he was a withered pile of bones resting forsaken and alone within the graveyard, but for however briefly he may be allowed to have Erik, he would at least have the delicate illusion of happiness and be able to close his eyes to what he knew was inevitable.

“I’d like to teach,” Charles said finally, lighting up for one brief moment and then growing dark once more as the wind shifted, blowing the cold rain onto his face as if to snuff out his wish.

Erik climbed to his feet, his legs cold and stiff and the rain stinging his face. The clearing shrinking down to their forlorn chapel obscured by pelting rain gusted in on the wind as he reached down to tug at Charles’ elbow. Stilling in the act when Charles slid his hand over Erik’s to tangle their cold fingers together instead and staring down into his wide blue eyes for the space of a breath. Pulling at Charles again when it became too much and leading him up the steps until they were back out of the rain’s reach, settling on the topmost stair.

“Maybe you will,” Erik said finally, looking down at their still linked hands, sensing the moroseness in Charles far down where nothing could uproot it.

“Erik, don’t” Charles told him, his voice barely audible and Erik fell silent.

No matter how angry and dark the sky remained, morning was still coming to claim Charles. The birds chirping increasingly now, eager for the chance of worms escaping the waterlogged soil.

“You should go now,” Charles said, “if you wait too long you’ll be caught again.”

“Will you be all right?” Erik asked, knowing Kurt will probably make him wipe Cain’s arse next but unwilling to move.

“I’ll be fine,” Charles assured him quickly, pulling his hand away from Erik and looking down at his feet again, “really, you should go.”

Erik rose uncertainly, hovering over Charles, still not wanting to leave when Charles was hunched in on himself, appearing small and melancholy at Erik’s feet.

“Go,” Charles said again, harder this time, and Erik trudged reluctantly down the steps one by one and into the rain.

As Erik predicted, his shoes were immediately soaked through and his clothes, he could tell, were not far behind. He turned, staring up at Charles and feeling like a beggar, shivering pathetically in the rain with his hair plastered to his face and his shirt already sticking to his skin.

“You want me to come back, don’t you?” he asked tentatively. Charles smiled, warm, genuine, and soft and Erik felt brightened by it despite the miserable rain

*

Erik sloshed his way through what felt like a bog to stand at the back servant entrance dripping everywhere without a patch of dry skin left. Sliding off his mud encrusted shoes and carefully pushing open the door only to be met with Cain’s gleeful face.

“ _Mein Gott_ ,” Erik hissed, stumbling backward.

“Such a foul, guttural language,” Cain said haughtily, uncrossing his pajama clad arms. “I had the strangest inkling to look out my bedroom window a few moments ago and was quite surprised to find you slithering up the lawn.”

“Move,” Erik said brusquely, trying to brush him aside, secretly praying Cain had only caught him on the lawn and not coming out of the forest.

Cain stayed firmly planted in Erik’s path. “You know, Father regrets allowing a heathen like you into the house and when I tell him that you’ve been –”

“Erik!”

Both Cain and Erik flinched at the same time, both of them staring as Mrs. Elsner appeared from the stairwell leading to the cellar.

She was a kindly woman, robust and pink-faced with streaks of grey lacing through her braided hair, and currently donning a white linen apron. She was one of the first to offer Erik and Ruth a gentle word when they’d first arrived, her faded German accent caring and reassuring to them both amidst so much change. Erik discovering in the following weeks that she had seemingly made it her mission to fatten him and Ruth up, slipping Ruth biscuits and plying Erik with food whenever he ventured near the kitchens.

“There you are my lost lamb,” she cheerfully exclaimed to Erik, bustling into the room and knocking Cain aside with her hip, “did you fetch me those leeks I sent you out for?”

Erik stood there in helpless confusion, a puddle growing around his socked feet and they both glanced down to his empty hands.

“I might have known,” she said good-humoredly, “ah well, the Master will just have to take sprouts with his sausages then.”

“Leeks?” Cain interrupted, looking as though someone had just gifted him with a present only to take it away again.

Mrs. Elsner smiled warmly at him. “Yes, Erik here agreed to help in the kitchen this morning, poor thing though, look at you,” she patted Erik’s wet cheek. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there and you’re soaked all the way through.”

“But…” Cain started, looking from Erik to Mrs. Elsner back to Erik again.

“Did you come to help too, dear?”

Cain gaped at her in revulsion, quickly recovering himself. “I am not one of the  _help_ ,” he said, sounding as if the mere idea were too appalling to imagine.

“Well then,” Mrs. Elsner said, unfazed, “off you go then.”

Erik wanted to sink to the floor in relief after Cain had gone but once she was sure Cain was a safe distance away Mrs. Elsner latched onto Erik’s arm like a vice.

“Don’t you ever make me do that again,” she told him sternly. “Out all night in this weather, catching your death of cold, doing God knows what.”

“I wasn’t doing God knows what,” Erik protested as she released him to start drying his face with her apron.

“You need to get out of these clothes and straight into a bath,” she said. “You look just like a drowned rat, whatever in the world have you been doing?”

“I,” he began awkwardly, “I…met someone.”

“Good Lord,” Mrs. Elsner gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, “you’ve been out all night with a girl.”

“No,” Erik said quickly, “I just, we just…talk.”

“No, _no_ , I don’t want to hear it, you march yourself straight upstairs and…”

“He’s hungry,” Erik burst out suddenly, and he knew he was on dangerous ground letting slip anything about Charles but Mrs. Elsner had an affinity for the underfed and if anyone was going to help him it would be her.

“He’s hungry? Who’s hungry?” Mrs. Elsner asked, herding him into the kitchen so he could slip through to the main part of the house.

“I’ve met someone and he doesn’t have enough to eat,” Erik said, and Mrs. Elsner slowed to a stop, eyeing him heavily.

“You made off with your dinner last night to feed a boy who doesn’t have enough to eat?” she asked, searching Erik’s face. “That’s terrible,” she said, mostly to herself when Erik nodded. “All right,” she sighed finally, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Erik doesn’t know what that means and he doesn’t ask as she continues pushing him toward the door. “I’ll send you up something hot to eat in a minute. Get out of these wet clothes and into a bath, they’ll likely be expecting you back down here soon, I imagine.”

Erik didn’t hesitate to do as he was told and made it all the way back to his room without incident. Stripping himself bare once he’d closed the door, and wrapping back up in a flannel dressing gown, made his way to the bathroom.

Alone and sunk down in the blessedly warm water of the tub his mind traveled back to Charles and the sad way he’d looked at Erik, growing smaller and smaller with each step Erik took away from him. Framed by the dismal rain and defenselessly soft amongst so much stone, perched solitary and still like an angel holding a mournful vigil over its neglected and derelict graveyard.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless, endless thanks to the awesome [Sophia_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee) for betaing. <3

Rain continued falling throughout the morning and well in to the afternoon, leaving the sky dark and overcast and the Markos' manor front pond swollen and inching up the lawn. Erik could see it from his bedroom window, resting in the window-seat with the duvet wrapped around his shoulders and leaning his head against the cool, foggy glass with his eyes unfocused, feeling drowsy and warm, waiting for nightfall and listening to the wind clawing at the roof. He was breathing deeply and half asleep when the brass knob of his door turned, startling him back to awareness, and making him smile softly as Ruth padded quietly into the room, letting the door close gently behind her.

She was ornamented in another of Sharon’s lavish and flawless handpicked dresses. Delicate layers of dusty blue and periwinkle silk chiffon that floated and fluttered about her with each step she took, a band of crystal beading at her waist and her hair falling in smooth auburn ringlets down her back. Sharon’s very own living, breathing Polish doll. Beside her Erik looked like a vagrant, hard up and wayfaring, clothed in old cotton and rough wool, his hair still tangled messily from his bath.

Ruth stilled beside his window-seat, her gentle brown eyes meeting his questioningly before she wordlessly joined him, Erik shifting back to accommodate her, and wrapping his arms around her so that her back rested against his chest. Watching as she held her hand out, her fingers uncurling to reveal two perfectly round steel marbles.

Erik’s eyes slid over to his closed door before looking back down at the marbles, a slow grin stretching his face as he held his own hand out and the marbles floated into the air, spinning and spiraling around each other in a slow dance.

Ruth giggled and Erik grinned more widely, making the marbles chase after each other in dizzy circles, faster and faster until the floorboards out in the hall creaked and Erik dropped them with a sigh, staring regretfully after them as they rolled under his bed and out of sight. Not another sound was heard outside and Erik figured the house must just be making noises again, though he couldn't help himself from believing it was a warning. Even the house knew he was taking a flippant risk, and so he left the marbles for now to their resting place beneath his bed. Turning his attention back on Ruth tracing patterns across the glass.

“Where did you get them?” Erik asked quietly.

“Cain was using them in a slingshot to try and hit a cat last night,” Ruth answered huffily. “But Donald got after him and took them away,” she said, sounding a touch more pleased. “You should have seen him yelling after Cain. I found those in the grass after.”

“Did Cain hit the cat?”

“No, poor thing though,” Ruth sighed, “it wouldn’t come to me when I called it.”

Erik looked back out the window at the treetops lashing back and forth in the wind, wondering where Charles was right now and if he was still in the clearing and how he was faring in this weather.

“You left again,” Ruth said, interrupting Erik’s thoughts, her voice a breathy and barely there whisper, “I know you did.”

“You came to my room last night and I wasn’t here,” Erik guessed. Ruth nodded, drawing her finger back and forth across the windowpane.

“You aren’t going out walking,” she said knowingly and with a child’s eerie perceptiveness. “It stormed so bad last night, and you weren’t here,” she said, still in whispers. “Tell me where you’re going.”

Erik looked again to his closed door. “I can’t,” he said and Ruth went rigid in his arms.

“Erik, I want to go home. I want to see Mama, and if you go away...” She gripped his hand tightly and Erik looked down at the red sheen of her hair.

“Ruth, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, but Ruth was shaking her head.

“You can hardly stand it here,” she said. “If you run away –”

“Ruth –”

“Promise you won’t leave me here alone,” she insisted, her small fingers digging into the back of his hand, “promise me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Erik promised, wiping away some of the fogginess on the window with his sleeve and staring back out into the rain. The wind seemed intent on blowing from every direction, the trees of the forest swaying every which way, old leaves racing and tumbling across the lawn. “You have to trust me,” he said, looking intently at the forest, “I’m not running away, I’m not even leaving the property. I just need to be away from this house sometimes.” Erik couldn’t see Ruth’s face so he didn’t know if she believed him or not but she nodded finally, releasing her death grip on his hand and cuddling back against him.

“What’s going on out there?” Erik asked eventually, eager to get on with dinner and be done with the day.

“Sharon’s crying in the front room,” Ruth said quietly.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Ruth shrugged against him, “I don’t know, I heard Mrs. Elsner say she’s soused out of her mind. Cain’s shut himself up in his room. And I don’t know where Kurt’s gone.” She picked at a loose thread on the cuff of Erik’s sleeve where a button had come unraveled. “Mrs. Elsner also says we’re having roast chicken for dinner. She said to tell you that.”

Erik smiled. The rain spattered on the glass with an especially fierce bluster of wind. “You haven’t seen Kurt?” he asked, feeling a current of boldness wash through him.

“No,” Ruth answered.

“And Cain’s been in his room all this time?”

Ruth inclined her head back to look at him when she heard the smile in his voice. Sliding out of Erik’s hold and to the floor when it became clear that he meant to get up, and reaching out for his hand. Erik allowing himself to be led from his room and through endless halls lined with stern faced portraits, down two flights of stairs and past the great double doors of the music room.

The piano stood alone at the far end of the immense room, surrounded by high reaching rounded windows and the skulking shadows of the forest. Enfolding the room in rich shades of green and the sanctuary of aged, interwoven branches. The somberness of the sky throwing the room into a silent and despondent gloom that welcomed Erik in its embrace the moment he encroached the door. Sentimental and soft, romantic and sad, like it had been waiting for him all this time. The shadows covering him and wrapping him up securely, nestling close as he stepped purposefully across the room and whispering to him and over him as he slid down onto the bench, touching his feet to the pedals. His slender, long fingers spreading apart and hovering over the ivory keys, just a whisper of a touch, like a feather gliding across skin.

Ruth roamed silently along the perimeter of the room, chiffon fluttering behind her like the trailing wings of a butterfly, the small cluster of crystals on her dress glimmering like starlight in the edges of Erik’s vision as he stared mutely down at the keys before finally allowing his fingers to sink in softly, drawing out the faintest of notes. His breath leaving him in an exultant whoosh, his heart beat steady and slow while he considered which piece he would play. Reveling in the knowledge that with the piano he could be ruthlessly precise and it wouldn’t require him to speak or to explain himself in any way and yet he could lay himself completely bare without a single word. Resurrecting visions clouded by the murky fading of memory and the grimy dust of time.

He meant to play something jovial and light, something to brush away the shadows and cobwebs of gloom hanging all through the house. But as his hands sank again into the keys what resulted was not ecstatic at all but lamenting; a train station beleaguered by rain, the scratchiness of his mother’s wool coat against his cheek and the smell of her hair. The perilous sphere of their world and the fragile balance in which Erik’s parents now lived. The fragile balance he and Ruth now teetered dangerously within.

Ruth stood at the forefront of the room, facing him and silhouetted in the window’s murky light, Erik glancing up at her once before submerging himself into the lower octaves of Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, engulfing the room with gentle softness, the notes overlapping and his fingers sinking in deeper until the sound became vibrant and full. The diffused light and the dripping darkness of the trees surrounding the windows fading from Erik as he lost himself to its moody defiance, closing his eyes against the nearing climax as the notes chased each other into a chaotic frenzy, drowning in the vibrations resonating throughout his body.

“That’s dreadful,” Cain shouted from the entranceway and Erik’s shoulders tensed as his hands faltered against the keys, the reverberating notes singing for a short, sharp moment before hushing into silence and Erik’s hands dropped to his lap. The echoing fall of Cain’s footsteps across the polished floor making him draw tighter into himself, his eyes lifting to Ruth who had startled at the sound of Cain’s voice and was gazing back at Erik anxiously.

“I thought for certain that Father ordered you not to play this,” Cain sneered, coming to a stop alongside the piano bench. “Aren’t you being punished?”

“That was yesterday,” Erik told him briskly, rising from the bench and striding over to Ruth, taking her hand and leading her toward the door. He made it halfway across the room when behind him Cain let the palm of his hand slap hard against the keys, filling the room with a jarring clamor that made Erik cringe.

In the wake of his noise Cain said, “I have the unfortunate task of informing the two of you that dinner will be ready soon and you’re expected in the dining room.”

Cain let Erik make it to the doors with Ruth right on his heels before he spoke again. “Oh, and Erik, Father insists you remove your ghastly attire and dress in something more respectable. He says if you continue to dress like the help then you can take up your quarters with them as well.”

Erik didn’t look back, stalking past the doors, pulling Ruth along after him.

*

Erik tried to keep his eyes down and focused on his roasted chicken and carrots as he fidgeted irritably within the confines of the stodgy grey suit he’d been forced to wear. Shutting out the sight and sound of Cain stuffing his face directly across from him.

“The Nazis have invaded Czechoslovakia,” Kurt’s voice cut across the table, forcing Erik to raise his eyes from his plate. “And now they’re saying London will sever trade relations with Germany as a result.” Kurt was looking at Sharon, not Erik, though his gaze slanted in Erik’s direction for the briefest of moments. Out of the corner of his eye Erik could see Ruth stop eating to stare up at him worriedly but he didn’t turn to look at her just yet.

Sharon clutched delicately at the stem of her wine glass, looking at Kurt aghast with her red rimmed and puffy eyes but she said nothing. Erik’s gaze flitting back and forth between them until Cain shifted noisily in his chair and Erik looked straight across the table into Cain’s glittering eyes.

“There’s also talk of increasing wages for steel workers,” Kurt said, completely ignoring Sharon’s distressed appearance. “Three shillings a week, can you imagine?” Sharon guffawed halfheartedly while Kurt stabbed his knife and fork into his chicken breast. “Can’t these people just be grateful for the work they have without having to squeeze the better class.”

“You’re quite right, Darling, of course” Sharon said, gesturing for the maid to refill her glass, “but let’s talk of something more cheerful shall we?” Kurt grunted in response and Sharon seemed to take that as permission. “Marvina Abbot has heard that the Layfields' son will marry the Wickershams' daughter in Cornwall this summer.”

Erik stared openly at Sharon, uncomprehending as to how both she and Kurt could be so dismissive.

“You would think that with being so prominent we might have heard something from the Layfields themselves rather than receiving secondhand news from  _Marvina Abbot_ ,” Sharon sniffed, and Erik couldn’t take it anymore.

“What about Czechoslovakia,” he demanded, letting his own fork drop with a clatter.

“Really, Sweetheart,” Sharon spoke to Erik like he was slow in the head, “it’s nothing to worry yourself over.”

“No, no,” Kurt spoke up, fixing Erik with his chilly gaze, “the boy should be educated.”

Across from Erik, Cain had finally stopped eating. Watching his father with a mix of anticipation and delight.

“You see,” Kurt began firmly, pointing his knife in Erik’s direction, “London severing trade with Germany on account of the Jews will have disastrous results for business here, simply disastrous, why the textile industry alone…”

The chandelier shivered above them, the suspended crystals tinkling with the movement, drawing everyone’s attention briefly just before the maid coming into the room gave a shrill scream, the glass platter she had been carrying dropping from her hands, shattering to pieces and sending vegetables rolling across the floor. She was frozen with her hands thrown out in front of her, her face white, above her head, blade embedded deep into the wallpaper, was Kurt’s knife.

At the table Kurt looked like a statue, his hand still poised over his plate, his eyes wide with shock.

“Darling?” Sharon questioned, hesitant and alarmed.  

Kurt sat perfectly still, staring across the table to the knife protruding from the wall. “It moved by itself,” he whispered and Cain started to laugh, earning him a dark glare from his father, and immediately fell silent.

“It was in  _your_  hand, Darling,” Sharon said, looking between him and the maid.

“Are you implying I threw it?” Kurt snarled at her. “When I’m telling you it moved on its own.” He jerked forward again to face the maid, still standing in place below the knife and trying to hold back tears. “You, girl,” he growled, “clean this damn mess up and get out.”

“Kurt,” Sharon said very softy, reaching out to touch her husband’s hand.

Kurt pulled his hand away. “I will not be undermined by you.  _You_  will respect me at my table.”

Erik felt sick, his hands braced flat on the table, knuckles white and his face drained of color as he turned to face Ruth and found her eyes pleading with him to stop. “I need to be excused.” He pushed his chair back without waiting for Kurt’s consent, ignoring him when he demanded Erik sit back down. Keeping his head down and escaping the room as quickly as he could, ignoring the sobs of the maid and Mrs. Elsner attempts to console her out in the hall.

Safely back in his room, Erik threw himself down on his bed, quaking with the fear of what he had just done. He’d never lost control like this and to have done so now over something so small.  _What if he had hit that girl?_ He curled onto his side and tried to will his mind blank, acutely aware of the presence of the two steel marbles under the bed. His body felt like it was humming, every rivet and nail, every curving piece of brass and iron whispering to him, goading him into action. He wanted to sink down into it and bend it all to his will, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and shivering with the effort not to. A gentle knock at his door made him flinch and his eyes snapped back open but he didn't move off the bed or open his mouth to speak. It was too soft to be Cain or Kurt and neither would bother to knock anyway, so as soon as he was able to stop shaking he slid from the bed and crossed to the door, pausing when he sensed aluminum on the other side.

“I thought you might be needing this,” Mrs. Elsner said, once Erik opened the door, holding out a metal pail containing an extra dinner serving already wrapped up for him.

“Thank you,” Erik managed to sound grateful, taking the pail from her hands.

“That ought to be enough for your friend,” Mrs. Elsner said, gesturing to the pail and Erik smiled feebly because it felt like she had stuffed an entire chicken inside. “Kurt’s upset with you again,” she told him fretfully, “but not enough to make him leave the table.  _Horrible man_. He’s likely to stay there awhile, always smokes after dinner you know.” She wrung her apron anxiously. “Sharon’s retired to their bedroom and Kurt sent Ruth and Cain straight to their rooms. I’ve given them each a tart to calm them down, hopefully they’ll stay put and you can sneak out without anyone troubling you.”

Erik nodded, keeping his eyes down and turned around to find his own clothes, pausing with his hand on his white shirt from earlier when Mrs. Elsner spoke again.

“Now I’m only bringing this up here just this once and only on account of you leaving the table so quickly. From now on I’ll leave an extra helping at the back entrance where the milk is dropped off.”

Erik threw his clothes on his bed, regretfully noting that he’d ruined his old shoes in the trek back through the forest this morning. They were still outside the servant entrance, soaked through and caked with mud. He would have to wear the ones given to him for his birthday, he decided.

“Erik,” Mrs. Elsner said, still hesitating in his open door, “do us both a favor all right, and try not to get caught by anyone. If you’re going to be out all night, and I  _really_  wish you wouldn’t, but if you do, you should come back sooner than what you have been, before Kurt wakes up. Because I won’t do what I did this morning again, not after what Kurt did tonight.”

Erik stilled, the words,  _‘It wasn’t Kurt,’_  on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them back down, forcing himself to nod instead and waiting until Mrs. Elsner had finally gone before he moved again. Stripping himself of his suit and pulling his own clothes back on again. Hurriedly grabbing both the pail and his jacket once he had, closing his door and slipping stealthily down the hall.

*

Erik was halfway down the back garden path when the servant door swung open behind him making him freeze. Footsteps shuffled across the gravel before stilling, leaving Erik with nothing but silence. He swore under his breath, turning around very slowly, fully expecting to find Cain, surprised when he found Ruth instead.

“Ruth?” Erik stammered awkwardly, glancing quickly to the forest and back to Ruth’s face.

She was dressed in her warm overcoat with the hood pulled over her head to shelter her from the drizzling rain, her arms crossed around the doll Sharon had bought for her and looking at Erik with wide beseeching eyes. “Where are you going?”

“I already told you,” Erik said impatiently, the rain steadily plastering his hair to his face.

“And I don’t believe you,” Ruth replied, closing the distance between them until she was standing right at the tips of his toes, staring up at him. “So wherever you’re going, I’m coming too.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Erik groaned, looking over her head to the windows of the house, chancing a look up at the light filtering through Cain’s curtains, relieved to find they’re pulled closed.

It was growing darker, the night greedily consuming what remained of the day while they faced each down.

“Erik, if Mama had seen what you did at the table with that knife...” Ruth said, shaking her head. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Erik hissed in reply, immediately softening when Ruth cowered before him. “Ruth,” he sighed, “I’m sorry all right, I just, I don’t know what happened, I lost control but it won’t happen again and I  _really_  need to go now.”

She quickly glanced at the pail gripped in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Food,” Erik said flatly, turning and starting to walk down the length of the garden path.

“You  _are_  running away,” Ruth said, running after him, latching onto his free hand and Erik slowed to a stop once more.

“ _No_ , I’m just going to visit a friend, that’s all.”

“What friend?”

Erik searched desperately for a way to make her go back inside and came back with nothing. He’d frightened her tonight, hell, he’d frightened himself even, and now she’d caught him stealing off into the night again, this time loaded down with food.

“If I tell you, do you promise to keep it a secret?”

Ruth nodded eagerly.

“I have a friend,” Erik choose his words carefully, glancing back at the house one last time before pulling Ruth off to the side behind one of the hedges at the end of the path, “who lives in the forest and right now I’m taking him dinner. That’s all.”

Ruth frowned at him. “In the forest?”

“Yes, so go back inside and…”

Ruth was already shaking her head. “I told you I’m coming too.”

Erik scrubbed a hand over his face in irritation, it was completely dark now and he needed to go. One look at Ruth’s face told him he’d already lost. “All right,  _all right_ , just, you have to promise you won’t –”

“ _I know_ ,” Ruth insisted.

“Come on then,” Erik sighed.

Ruth followed after his long strides as quickly as she could, not uttering another word as they crossed the lawn together, not until they were in the woodland garden and Erik was heading into the trees.

“Erik?”

He turned, looking back at her quizzically. She had stopped, hugging her doll close, staring white faced at the trees.

“I don’t want to go in there,” she whispered. “There’s something wrong with it.”

Erik turned back to gaze into the dark before him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, but if you would rather go back up to the house…”

She came forward slowly, taking his hand again and gripping it tightly. Erik sighed heavily, accepting defeat and lead her into the forest, cursing the sky as he went, the rain and soggy ground leaving him shivering with wet and cold all over again. The forest was as dark as it had ever been, the trip to the clearing taking twice as long now that Erik had Ruth to contend with. She glued herself to his side as together they slipped and stumbled across the slick moss. Erik grimacing all the way through the forest, wet twigs brushing his face and snaring his hair until finally he and Ruth were standing completely unsheltered in the clearing, the rain pelting them full in the face.

“Erik,” Ruth whispered fearfully once she’d spotted the graveyard.

“Hush,” Erik told her, dragging her along with him toward the chapel.

 _What have you done?_ Charles’ voice knifed through his skull without warning and Erik stumbled to a stop, dropping the pail and clutching at his head.

“Erik!” Ruth shrieked.

“Charles,” Erik wheezed, and Charles’ voice along with the stabbing pain receded like smoke fleeing out an open window.

Erik opened his eyes, searching around the clearing, ignoring Ruth’s soft pleas for them to go back. “Where are you?” Erik asked, not finding any trace of Charles anywhere. He took another step toward the chapel and Charles’ voice rose up inside his head once more like a tidal wave, consuming and dark.

 _I told you that no one could know. I warned you,_ Charles bit out angrily.  _You promised me._

“She’s only my sister,” Erik turned all around and still saw nothing. “She won’t tell anyone, Charles. Come out.”

“Erik, there’s no one there,” Ruth whispered, tugging frantically on his sleeve. “Who are you talking to?”

 _You shouldn’t have brought her here,_ Charles hissed.  _Didn’t I tell you it isn’t safe?_

“Charles, come on,” Erik pleaded, “show yourself.”

“Stop it, Erik,” Ruth whimpered. “Please, stop it.”

“She thinks you’re talking to a ghost,” Charles said aloud, and Ruth shrieked again, burying her face in Erik’s side.

“Enough,” Erik demanded, “I’m sorry, all right but that’s  _enough_.”

Erik’s eyes roved all around, passing over an alcove created by two trees that had twined around each other when they would have been only saplings, growing tightly together until they were one and inseparable. Upheaving the ground where one of the larger gravestones rested, rending the stone in half. The alcove had been empty one moment as he’d glanced over it but as he’d passed over it a second time, he found Charles hunched in on himself, staring out at Erik like a wild animal. His eyes bright and accusing.

“How did you do that?” Erik asked, taking a step toward him, “make it so I couldn’t see you?”

Charles didn’t answer, just continued staring at Erik like he might bite.

“Ruth,” Erik shook her shoulder in an attempt to dislodge her, “look, see, it’s not a ghost.”

She shook her head, still keeping her face buried against Erik’s jacket. From the alcove Charles snorted.

“Don’t be mean,” Erik said to him, looking down at Ruth in frustration, forcibly peeling her from his side and turning her around to face Charles. “Look.”

She gripped the doll in place of Erik’s jacket, shivering as she met Charles’ gaze and finally Erik could see Charles soften. He glanced up at Erik quickly before focusing on Ruth. “I’m not a ghost,” he told her quietly.

Ruth looked up at Erik questioningly, hoping for him to make sense of everything. Charles was inching forward out of the alcove, straightening and brushing himself off. He looked down at Ruth, his face crawling with shame as she took a frantic step away from him, her back colliding with Erik’s front.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Charles murmured, “but if it’s any consolation, I’m not much bigger than you.”

“If you’re not a ghost then what are you?” Ruth asked. Over the top of her head, Charles and Erik exchanged a wry grin.

“He’s like me, Ruth,” Erik said, herding her and Charles toward the chapel.

She tightened her hold on him again as they passed through the graveyard, Erik having to press her up the steps to the porch. As Charles slipped past them and inside the chapel to light the candles, she moved to Erik’s other side to avoid him. Erik turned, seeking out the dropped pail, sensing it rolled over on its side just out of sight, rain pinging off its surface. He held his hand out to call it forward, his power skating over its composited form, dread welling up inside him as he did so. The memory of ripping the knife clean out of Kurt’s hand festering in his thoughts and his hand lowered.

“Wait here,” he told Ruth as he ventured off the porch, back out to retrieve the pail by hand instead.

Once he had it and had rejoined her on the porch, he guided her down the descending steps inside the chapel. Charles was seated on one side of the altar stone, staring across the room at them both.

“Brought you something,” Erik told him, holding out the pail.

Charles eyed it briefly and nodded, before his gaze flicked back to Ruth. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for you to come back here tonight,” he said.

“What?” Erik said, stepping further into the room. “Why?”

Charles gave him a look. “Look at you, Erik,” he said, dragging a hand through his wet hair, “you’re soaking wet, and...” he trailed off, looking at Ruth once more.

Erik crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You’re wet too,” he shot back. “And you don’t have to worry about Ruth, she isn’t going to tell anyone.”

Ruth looked back and forth between them. “ _This_ is where you’ve been going at night?”

Erik took her hand and drug her the rest of the way into the room until she was standing before Charles. “Ruth, this is Charles. You know, the one sent away to boarding school.”

Ruth looked at Charles, considering for a moment. “Did you run away?”

Charles barked out a laugh. “I wish.”

Erik looked at Charles anxiously, setting the pail down at his feet. “We should explain.”

Charles met his gaze uncertainly. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

Erik nodded, glancing down at Ruth reassuringly. “Yes.”

Charles exhaled heavily, tipping back on the stone as he gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes slanting down again when Erik lowered himself to the floor, motioning for Ruth to do the same and tapped the side of the pail.

“I brought you chicken.” Erik offered the words like an apology and Charles smiled despite himself. “We already ate, so it’s all yours.”

Charles slid down to the floor beside Erik and pried the lid off, lifting out Mrs. Elsner’s wrapped bundle, the scent of roast chicken wafting through the air the moment it escaped the confines of the pail. Mrs. Elsner had also included twice as many carrots as what Erik had had for dinner along with a Gloucester tart, Erik noticed. His eyes lifting up to Charles’ face as Charles made a delighted sound, tearing into one of the two chicken breasts he’d laid out in front of himself. His eyes flitting every so often in Ruth’s direction. Erik watched him eat quietly for a moment, carefully contemplating his words. From the corner of his eye he could see Ruth openly staring at Charles.

“Do you live here?” she asked Charles suddenly, exactly as Erik had done the first night he’d discovered him.

Charles shook his head, mumbling around a mouthful of food.

“He lives in a cottage,” Erik supplied for him. And over the next several minutes described to Ruth everything Charles had told him about his life. Charles for his part left most of the explaining to Erik, keeping his answers short and hesitant each time she asked him a question. Her eyes going impossibly wide when she asked about Charles’ strange ability and he shocked her by answering inside her head. The more Erik talked the more fearful Ruth became, and Erik knew why. It was for the same reason he didn’t want to return to the house after meeting Charles. Knowing that Kurt and Sharon had for all intents and purposes fed Charles to a wolf after learning of his  _affliction_ was chilling to them both.

“You change into a swan?” Ruth asked, wrinkling her nose up. “And there’s a man who changes into an owl?”

“I wouldn’t believe it either,” Erik admitted to her. “But I saw it for myself and I swear it’s true.”

“You said there was nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered fiercely to Erik.

“You lied, Erik,” Charles said coolly, crunching away on one of the carrots.

Erik frowned at him. “What was I supposed to tell her?”

“You should have told her to stay back at the house,” Charles said.

“Stop it,” Ruth demanded, “both of you.” She looked at Charles, “I like swans,” she said decidedly, slowly rising up off the floor. She took the few short steps into Charles’ space hesitantly, Charles eyeing her hand warily as she raised it to his face, gingerly touching the tips of her fingers to his cheek. “You’re real,” she said wonderingly, as if she hadn’t been sure before.

Charles was startled into a laugh, his teeth bared happily for a moment, catching Erik’s eye before he fell silent shortly after. Idly picking at the remains of his chicken, his eyes wet, whether from laughter or something else, Erik couldn’t be sure. “Even though I really do appreciate this,” he said, indicating the food Erik had brought him, “you really shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

“Charles –” Erik said in exasperation but Charles cut him off.

“The two of you are going to be sick,” Charles said, groping behind himself for Erik’s sweater and flinging it at Erik once he’d found it. “At least put that on.”

“You have clothes in the cottage?” Erik asked, watching Charles continue to pick the bones of the chicken breasts clean.

“Yes,” Charles answered shortly, looking up as Erik helped Ruth out of her overcoat, passing his sweater off to her instead.

“We should go there then.” Erik tried sounding nonchalant, helping Ruth into his shirt. He didn’t have to look to know Charles was frowning at him but the curiosity bubbling up inside him over the cottage had reached unimaginable levels.

“I told you no,” Charles grumbled. “Why didn’t you bring dry clothes with you, you’re…” Charles paused, looking at Erik’s shoes, his lips parting slightly in shock. “Are those – Did you get those from my mother?”

Erik glanced down at his once perfect gleaming black shoes, now stained and coated with mud. “Yes,” he said uncertainly, looking up confusedly as Charles laughed.

“You’ve ruined your shoes,” Ruth said apprehensively, as though fearing the Markos' reaction.

“For God’s sake, Erik,” Charles said, still laughing, “they really didn’t know what they were getting themselves into with you, did they.”

“What do you mean?” Erik asked, peeling off his waterlogged jacket and letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

“Mother and Kurt probably thought they were getting a couple of poor, sad children who would be only too grateful to receive  _that_  sort of gift and yet here you are stomping around in the mud with shoes that probably cost a bloody fortune.”

Erik shrugged. “My other shoes are wet from this morning.”

“Right, of course,” Charles said as he reached for the tart and began picking at the flaky edges.

Erik stared at him for one moment longer before the cold, wet state of his trousers and the chilled stone floor became too unbearable. “I can’t sit here like this,” he complained, leaping back up to his feet.

Charles chewed on his bottom lip and stared up at Erik thoughtfully. “Do want some of this?” he asked eventually, holding up the tart.

Erik shook his head and stiffly resettled back on the floor. “I told you, it’s for you.”

Charles hesitated before taking a small bite out of the tart, dropping it once again to its wrappings once he’d swallowed it. “Wait here,” he said, “ _I’ll_ go to the cottage and fetch you something dry and some blankets. I’d like to get out of these anyway,” he said, plucking at the fabric of his blue button down.

Erik sat up straighter at his words. “We’ll come with you.”

“Erik,” Ruth whispered, shaking her head, the fear of getting too close to where Sebastian lived alight in her eyes.

“No, you will stay here,” Charles insisted firmly, sparing Ruth a quick glance before getting to his feet. He strode quickly back to the entrance, staring out into the dark and listening to the sound of the rain. Turning back to face Erik with a strange look on his face. “Stay here,” he said, “I mean it,” just before disappearing into the rainy night.

Erik had absolutely no intention of staying where he was. “Can you wait here?” he asked Ruth without waiting for an answer but as soon as he was on the porch Charles’ voice was hissing inside his head and Erik took a shocked step back toward the entrance. He couldn't see Charles, had no idea where he was but Charles knew exactly where Erik was.  _Stay. There._ Charles’ voice commanded and Erik slunk irritably back inside the chapel to wait. Ruth was glowering at him from the floor.

He ducked his head, quirking his lips in a half grin. “Sorry.”

Charles hadn’t lit all the candles this time, leaving the chapel darker than it ordinarily was. The shadows stretching far along the walls, up into the dark canopy of the ceiling. Erik paced idly beside the altar stone, looking out into the expanse of the chapel. Above, the rain still battered the roof as it had done all day. Water standing in puddles along the stone floor where the rain leaked in through the apex arch and unseen cracks in the ceiling. Charles’ books and odd treasures remained untouched however, moved out of the way of the advancing puddles. Erik glanced down at the matchbox Charles had dropped onto the floor, wanting to light the rest of the candles, the close darkness pressing in around him making him feel confined.

He wanted badly to just follow after Charles, Charles’ order to stay put be damned, but he didn't, partly because of Ruth but mostly because he wasn't sure he could find Charles now in the dark and the idea of trying to navigate the flooded river with nothing to see by frightened him. Fear of falling in and his inability to swim eventually winning out over his curiosity.

It felt colder without Charles, darker, even with Ruth there with him. Erik’s ability to hear anything approaching the doorway muffled by the endless rain, his eyes squinting as he turned toward the entrance, half expecting to see an apparition there staring back at him. There was nothing and Erik shook away his ridiculous thoughts and started moving around the chapel, searching through Charles’ books.

They weren’t like the ones in Charles’ bedroom back in the house, where the shelves were comprised almost entirely of scientific facts, memoirs and biographies. And while there was definitely some of the same type of selection to be found here, they were vastly outnumbered by fictional stories with brightly illustrated covers touting adventures in foreign lands. Erik picked up one with a man gazing out across slate grey mountains half obscured by clouds before hunting down the one Charles had read to him the night before, taking it back over to the altar stone and thumbing absently through its pages while he waited.

“He’s nice,” Ruth said suddenly, her voice quiet and small as her hands smoothed across their father’s sweater again and again. “Strange, kind of funny, but nice.”

Erik nodded, still flicking through the book.

“We should try to help him somehow,” she said, her hands finally stilling as she pulled her doll onto her lap.

Again Erik nodded.

“Maybe we can find a way to take him back with us when we go home.”

Erik looked up at her slowly, the book closing in his hands, a dark bloom of sadness and anger unfurling behind his ribs. They needed to figure out a way to get home first. And as for Charles, Erik didn’t even know where to begin.

“We will go home, won’t we?” Ruth asked, caressing her doll’s hair as she spoke, as if she had Charles’ power and had read the thought in him.

“We’ll go home,” Erik said, his voice gone suddenly hoarse, “I swear it.”

It took Charles long enough to return that Erik considered more than once abandoning his position on the floor and hunting Charles down despite his fear of falling in the river. He was actually on the chapel porch overlooking the woeful graveyard despite Ruth’s protests, preparing to head off into the rain when movement across the lake caught his eye.

Charles looked wretchedly miserable, fumbling his way around the water’s edge, lugging a heavy sack along with him. Erik forced away his grin and left the cover of the overhanging arch to help him, meeting him at the spot where he’d seen Charles’ last transformation. He was soaked all the way through again, his shirt turning transparent beneath the downpour. Charles smiled at him gratefully, letting Erik take the sack from him and leading them both back across the saturated ground and through the graveyard, back into the refuge of the chapel.

Once inside, Charles quickly unpacked his burden, dragging a couple of heavy quilts from the recesses of his sack. “I brought two blankets,” he murmured, arranging them near the head of the altar stone. He had also brought himself a change of clothes as well as a set for Erik.

“I don’t think these are going to fit,” Erik snorted, holding up the pair of trousers Charles had passed him.

Charles looked up at him exasperatedly, in the midst of changing his shirt. “Do you want them or not?”

“Yes,” Erik chuckled, turning away from Charles and undressing as quickly as he could manage, making sure that Ruth was turned away toward the opposite wall as he did so. “I look funny,” Erik decided once he had pulled them on, looking back at Charles. Charles biting his lip to hold back the laugh just confirmed it, and Erik sighed.

As soon as Charles finished dressing he cocooned himself within the folds of one of the quilts, reaching back out for the discarded tart and looking up at Erik contemplatively as he finished it off.

Beside him, Ruth settled onto the other quilt. “We’re going to sleep here?” she asked, sounding put off.

“Bet you wish you’d stayed back at the house now, don’t you,” Erik said to her. He was looking at Charles though, hovering uncertainly at the edge of his quilt.

“What if I read to you?” Charles asked her tentatively, making Erik grin softly down at him. “Will that make it any better?”

Ruth’s face lit up. “No one’s read to me since Papa.”

Charles beamed, his hand appearing from his blanket nest to grab the book from where Erik had set it. Ruth wrapped herself up in her own quilt and scooted closer to him and Charles’ eyes met Erik’s. “Come here,” he coaxed quietly, fighting back a smile as Erik crawled gratefully into the inviting warmth of the blanket.

The chapel had shed its darkness now that Charles had returned, the sound of the rain softening the sharper edges of Erik’s thoughts as he impulsively pressed his forehead into the soft heat of Charles’ shoulder. Sighing happily when Charles raked his fingers gently through Erik’s wet hair, making him shiver, going boneless by small degrees as Charles retook up his place within  _The Call of the Wild_ , his gentle, musical voice tugging Erik down toward the depths of sleep. At his other side, Ruth slotted herself against him, completely engulfed by the quilt so that only her face was visible.

“ _Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity_ ,” Charles read and Erik’s eyes slid slothfully open, shifting beneath the blanket, pressing more firmly into Charles and Charles paused in his reading. Realizing after a moment that Ruth had fallen asleep.

“Do you think there are others out there like us?” Charles asked suddenly, making Erik tip his head back slightly to look at him. “We can’t be all there is,” Charles said quietly.

Erik glanced down at the open pages of the book and back up to Charles’ face. “Do you want to see something?” he whispered.

Charles nodded absently. “Sure.”

Erik turned his head, hesitating momentarily and taking a deep breath. Watching as from the other end of the altar stone the aluminum pail lifted by itself, floating across the empty space until it was within Charles’ reach.

Charles laughed, bright and full. “That’s marvelous, Erik.”

Erik beamed appreciatively and burrowed back into the heat of the blanket. “If we’re all there is,” he said sleepily, “then I’m glad to have found you.”

A gentle flood of gratitude and warmth flushed through Erik suddenly, making him smile as he closed his eyes against Charles’ skin.

“I accidentally used my power at dinner tonight,” Erik admitted into the quiet. “Kurt was saying that Germany’s invaded Czechoslovakia,” he paused as Charles started stroking through his hair again, “and that London’s cut trade because of it, he’s upset it’ll be bad for business. I accidentally made the chandelier move, and…and then the knife he was holding.” Charles was quiet, his hand stilling in Erik’s hair. “I sent it half through the wall,” Erik said disbelievingly, “one of the maids was standing there. I could have hit her instead. I almost did. Charles?”

“They don’t know it was you,” Charles whispered ardently, “right?”

Erik shook his head against Charles’ shoulder, “I think everyone believes Kurt threw it at her. I don’t know what Kurt thinks. I left right after.”

“Erik, it’s…it’s alright. You just have to be more careful,” Charles said and Erik made a small sound of agreement. “And no matter what, you can’t allow Kurt to find out what you are.”

“I wish none of this had ever happened,” Erik whispered darkly. “I wish I’d never come here.” Charles stiffened beside him and Erik’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, squeezing hard. “You’re the only good thing to come out of any of this and I’m happy to have found you. I’ll do whatever I can to help you but so help me, one way or another, I’m going home.”

“You could…” Charles broke off, swallowing thickly.  _You could stay with me._

“I could what?” Erik pressed.

Charles’ voice sounded strained when he spoke again. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

“What was your father like?” Erik asked, thinking of his own father and how terribly different he was to Kurt.

“I don’t remember really,” Charles said. “He laughed a lot and used to let me sneak into the parties Mother always wanted to throw so I could get at the dessert table.”

“Was Sharon happier then?” Erik asked, thinking of her red rimmed eyes at dinner.

Charles was quiet long enough that Erik worried he’d gone too far. “My mother never wanted children,” Charles finally replied, a strange edge to his voice. “She only had me to try and keep my father.”

“She told you that?” Erik asked disbelievingly.

“No,” Charles said, “of course not. I could hear her thinking it though after he died. She married Kurt just three months after the funeral.”

Erik frowned, remembering that Charles had said Kurt and his father worked together but decided against saying anything about it. Though Charles must have heard the thought anyway because he tensed up again, telling Erik, “I don’t want to talk about this tonight.”

“Okay,” Erik said softly, sliding his fingers down Charles’ wrist to his hand.

Charles wove their fingers together tightly like he had earlier that morning on the porch. “What else happened to you today?”

Erik could see the shadowiness of the music room, surrounded by the murky green of the forest and feel the somberness of the piano until Cain had come along and ruined it for him.

“Don’t think about Cain,” Charles murmured quietly, stroking the back of Erik’s hand, “go back to before he showed up.”

Erik buried his face back against Charles’ shoulder, his voice muffled by the fabric of Charles’ shirt when he spoke. “I was playing Chopin, one of the Nocturnes.”

“Is he your favorite?” Charles asked, and Erik nodded into his shoulder.

“I like Władysław Szpilman too,” Erik said quietly, “he’s famous in Warsaw, studied at the Chopin Academy of Music there.”

Charles could feel the undercurrent of Erik’s longing as he talked, wishing that he were able to study at the Academy himself. There was a flurry of notes and snatches of music floating along in the forefront of Erik’s thoughts. Transparent ghosts of memory that Charles could glide right on through; Erik eagerly awaiting the chance to hear the Polskie Radio broadcasting different Polish composers, and the kaleidoscopic majesty of perfecting one of Chopin’s Sonatas for the first time on Mrs. Sawicki’s piano.

Charles shifted around under the blanket, hesitantly moving his hand across Erik’s chest until he could feel the beating of Erik’s heart below his palm. “Erik, there’s no reason why you can’t become a pianist.”

“While we’re on the subject of impossible things is there anything else you’d like to share?” Erik asked. And Charles would flinch except Erik was being serious. There was no malice behind his words, just a resigned sadness, simmering in the back of his mind.

“I’d like to travel,” Charles humored him, “see different parts of the world.”

“Anything else?” Erik asked.

Charles considered for a moment before answering, “I think I’d like a dog, I’ve never been allowed one before.”

“A dog like Buck?” Erik asked with a small grin.

Charles snorted. “Is that your way of telling me to get on with reading?”

Erik didn’t say anything else, just closed his eyes and waited.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Charles chuckled, finding the place where he’d left off in the book. “ _Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in a stranger’s hands, he growled menacingly._ ”

Erik sighed into the warmth of Charles’ shirt, drifting further and further down into a dark that was welcoming and soft.

*

Erik woke to the feeling of Charles’ fingers brushing against his cheek and the low murmur of his voice, pulling Erik back up towards awareness. He made a small sound of protest, trying to cling to the fuzzy edges of sleep for as long as he could.

“Erik?” Charles’ voice called to him again, and Erik had no choice but to open his eyes.

“I know,” Erik murmured, hesitating for another moment longer before finally disentangling himself from the warm hold of both Charles and the blanket.

The chapel had gone dark but as Erik forced himself to stand, shivering slightly as the chilled air wrapped itself around his exposed limbs he realized he could no longer hear the sound of the rain. He gazed back down at Charles, who was still wrapped up safely within the quilt, looking worn out, like he hadn’t slept at all, before starting the unpleasant task of dressing himself back up in his own still damp clothes.

“I don’t want to go back,” Erik said. He didn't think he could handle another day of shutting himself up in his room or otherwise being forced to submit himself to the Markos' scrutiny.

Charles sighed and stood up, the quilt pooling heavily at his feet. “You need to, if you go back while it’s still dark, you’re less likely to be caught.” Charles stepped out of the folds of the quilt, coming closer until he was directly in front of Erik, gazing up at him softly. “I’ll walk with you this time all right?”

There was something in Charles’ eyes that Erik didn't recognize, something that was both yearning and hesitant at the same time, and for the strangest of moments, Erik was sure Charles was about to kiss him. He tensed, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides, desperately hoping that Charles would turn away and at the same time frightened by himself when he realized that he would very much like to know what Charles’ lips would feel like pressed against his own. And it was so incredibly wrong he knew; he should be dreaming about girls, lovely and rose-cheeked, not Charles’ pale skin and wide blue eyes. Charles blinked, turning away from Erik and making for the doorway, and Erik wasn't sure if he felt relieved or sad as he stooped forward to rouse Ruth from her sleep. When she was ready they followed after Charles, the aluminum pail floating eerily along behind them as if held aloft by a ghost.

The rain had stopped sometime while Erik had been asleep, the lake flooded well past the shore and puddles glistening all around them in the dark. Up above, the clouds had turned wispy and transparent, allowing small slivers of moonlight to bleed through. The moss shimmered and shone, squelching beneath their feet with every step they took. Erik startling briefly as he felt Charles’ cool fingers take hold of his, too distracted by the heavy silence of the clearing after so much wind and rain to notice. He relaxed quickly again, letting Charles pull him along through the thick moss. The shadows rushing over them as soon as they trespassed the tree line, the small amount of moonlight lost to them beneath the knotted and twisted branches. The smell of leafy loam thick in the wet after the rain, clinging to them as they made their way quietly along. Erik troubled to see that the further from the chapel they went, the smaller Charles seemed to become. Growing distant and saddened once again at Erik’s side.

Water droplets clung everywhere, dripping off the trees to land in their hair. Sparkling and ensnared in spider webs riddled along their path. Charles took Erik and Ruth a different way, an easier way that wasn’t so congested by undergrowth and the barring branches of the trees. Cloaked entirely in greys and muted shadows Charles slowed to a stop some twenty yards before the forest edge, looking wordlessly up at Erik with sad and downcast eyes.

“I’ll come back,” Erik said softly, squeezing Charles’ hand. Reaching out with his other for the pail still suspended by itself in the empty air.

Charles searched Erik’s face, opening his mouth to speak and abruptly closed it once more, nodding instead.

Erik waited for several long minutes with the sound of the water droplets dripping all around them in the dark, waiting in case Charles had anything more to say. Squeezing his hand gently once more before letting Charles’ fingers slip from his hand when it became clear Charles wasn't going to speak anymore tonight. Slowly and unhappily pushing his way through the remaining scrub and scree, tugging Ruth along after him until they were standing alone in the center of the woodland garden.

He turned back, peering and searching through the dark and twisted shapes of the trees, hoping to see Charles. There was nothing, no movement caught his eye and no sound reached his ears and for the second time Erik couldn't help himself from wondering if Charles was ever really there at all.

*

Erik slunk with Ruth all the way back up the lawn and through the back entrance, creeping along the dark and empty halls to drop Ruth off at her room before continuing to his own, breathing a sigh of relief as he quietly closed the door. He waited silently beside it, listening for any sound of Cain or Kurt and when only the stillness greeted him, moved away toward the bathroom, stripping away his soiled and damp clothes, discarding them to a hamper and drawing himself another bath.

Afterwards, dry and dressed in warm, soft pajamas he crawled heavily onto his bed, shoving the duvet back and collapsed gratefully back into the waiting arms of sleep.

*

It was the niggling sensation of being watched that did it. Pulled Erik rung by rung up out of the hazy grey static spaces of sleep. His eyes opened lazily, blinking the room into focus just as Cain’s round, pink face popped into view, spooking Erik halfway up the headboard, his breaths short and rattling in his chest.

“Are you ill?” Cain asked, sounding far too cheerful.

Erik blinked hard again, feeling equal parts too warm and too cold, his head pounding incessantly, every joint feeling achy and swollen. Horrified to find that Cain might have just spoken the truth, especially since he’d somehow managed to sneak inside Erik’s room without his noticing. This more than anything else had Erik’s blood boiling.

“Get out,” he rasped, shocking himself with the raw gravel sound of his own voice.

Cain’s face seemed to light from within. “You  _are_  ill,” he said with relish.

Erik slid back down the headboard, turning his head away and grimacing. Cain had thrown his curtains wide open, letting the sunlight pour in golden warm slants across Erik’s bedroom and right across Erik’s eyes.

Cain bounced onto the end of Erik’s bed, jostling him and making him groan with a swell of nausea as he buried his face back into his pillow. “Stop.”

“Father sent me up here to find out what’s the matter with you,” Cain said. “You’ve slept past breakfast.”

“Cain,” Erik growled weakly when Cain continued shaking the bed, making Erik feel like he was about to heave. “Cain, for the love of God, you are fourteen years old, why don’t you start acting like it.”

The shaking of the bed ceased and Cain heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, Erik, you really must learn to show your superiors more respect than that.”

Erik cracked an eye open. “You can’t possibly be referring to yourself.”

Cain considered him thoughtfully from the foot of the bed. “It’s a curious thing,” he said. “I wonder how exactly your new shoes and your clothes became so terribly muddy and wet.”

Erik opened both eyes, raising himself up slightly to his elbows and staring down the bed at Cain. “What are you talking about?”

“There are muddy wet clothes in your hamper,” Cain grinned back at him.

“I…you went through my hamper?” Erik asked disbelievingly. “What’s the matter with you? Why would you do that?”

“You don’t really expect me to believe you actually volunteered to help that fat sow in the kitchens do you?” Cain said viciously. At Erik’s look of disgust he continued, “I came to see you after dinner, you know. You seemed rather upset. Did you see how Father almost skewered that worthless –”

“ _Get out_ ,” Erik hissed, throwing back the duvet and forcing himself to rise from the bed.

“Now, I warn you,” Cain said, jumping up and backing toward the door.

“ _Get_.  _Out_.” Erik bit out, advancing on Cain.

Cain puffed himself up in front of the door. “This is my house, and I – FATHER!” Cain shrieked as Erik grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, forcibly dragging him out into the hall.

“You’re a menace is what you are,” Cain squawked when Erik released him. “And I’ll have you know my father will know about this. He doesn’t like the thought of you roaming about at night, and if you think I’m not going to tell him about your little nightly trips, you are sadly mistaken.”

Erik stood silently, quaking with pent up anger, “verpiss dich,” he snarled, stalking back into his room and slamming the door, leaving Cain gape mouthed, alone in the hall.

*

He’d gotten himself punished again. Cain had ran straight to Kurt, reporting of Erik’s insolence along with his wet clothes and the fact that he hadn’t been in his room when Cain had come calling. That he’d made himself sick is seen as just punishment for the moment, though Erik is sure there’ll be more to follow. He didn't allow himself to worry about it however, here in the closed up and silent sanctuary of his bedroom. He’d been confined to his bed for the day. Sharon had insisted, not wanting Erik’s illness spreading through the house.

The sun crawled across the sky, dark wisps of cloud scudding across its path, darkening Erik’s room every so often before brightening once more. Ruth had come shortly after Cain had gone, settling lightly at the foot of Erik’s bed, wanting to talk about Charles but Erik shook his head, refusing to speak of him inside the house. They’d lapsed into a companionable silence for a while until the lure of the sun and the absence of rain became too strong and she had left him to venture outdoors.

He dozed on and off throughout the day, tossing and turning on his bed, caught in the depths of strange dreams that he didn't want to examine too closely. Flashes of blue eyes and fantasies of red kiss-swollen lips against his skin leaving him twisted in the sheets, listlessly tracking the progression of the sun in the sky each time he woke. His meals he received in his room; toast and fruit at midday until finally night was approaching and Mrs. Elsner tried mothering him by sending up chicken noodle soup in a sterling soup tureen. She had prepared it for him in the traditional Jewish manner, laden with vegetables and herbs swimming around fat matzo balls. And while he knew it had taken her a long time to cook, he couldn’t bring himself to eat it, too restless and too anxious to try.

Erik sat straight up in his bed, with the soup going cold and growing more and more agitated as the sky darkened, shadows reaching deeper and deeper into the room. He should stay here in his room, he thought, until he figured out how to smother this new thing unfolding inside him. His eyes found the window, there was no rain and the wind was calm, the moon unobscured and suspended brightly in the sky. Charles would wait for him, he knew, and he wouldn’t come. He drew in a shuddering breath and threw back his covers, rising stiffly to his feet in the dark. Dressing in warm dry clothes, though his shoes were still wet, and taking up the cooling soup, and uncaring anymore if he was found out or not, slipped carefully and quietly from the room. Tiptoeing down the stairs, avoiding the hallways that would take him past the dining room or the kitchens and instead making for the cellar door. Down the flight of stairs into the musty dark and up another flight to the door leading outside. It was locked naturally but this was no large feat for Erik to handle; he simply used his power to force open the padlock on the other side, the chain falling away and the door springing open at his will.

The moon cut a clear path across the lawn for him, glinting off the manor front pond as he passed. The woodland garden standing in open, clear relief against the solid mass of darkness that was the forest. As before with the aluminum pail, Erik let his power carry the tureen, giving him the use of his hands to push away the branches, continuously stopping to grasp at a tree, and bending forward with a rattling cough. He tried to retrace the path Charles had took him and Ruth on only to end up making a circle back to where he had started. Groaning with frustration and forcing himself to remain calm, he continued pressing forward once more. Trying and failing to prevent himself from worrying over Charles, imagining him upset that Erik hadn’t shown up. The ground remained soggy after so much rain, the forest damp and fusty with the smell of rotting leaves, worms, and moss. His fingers coming away wet each time he brushed them against a mossy branch. It took him far longer than it ever had before, even longer than the night before when he’d had Ruth to cope with, but finally he spied a glimpse of the clearing lit beneath the moon between the trees, and with a sigh of relief, trudged forward.

The soup tureen hovered at his side in the open clearing, Erik reaching out to take it absently, staring out across the still lake, glittering and rippling beneath the moon, nearly full in its place in the sky. Showing him clearly each gravestone jutting from the mossy earth, their shadows crawling up the front of the stone chapel. He could see everything plainly and clearly but Charles was nowhere to be found. Within the confines of his own head he felt not the faintest whisper of Charles’ presence.

Cold unease prickled up his spine and he bit back the urge to call out, slowly and guardedly walking toward the graveyard. Somewhere deep in the forest, from the other side of the lake, a shrill shrieking carried through the trees to him. Erik’s heart leaping in his chest, pounding furiously for a moment before he regained composure, reassuring himself that it was only an animal, and forcing himself to keep going. The graves had heaved up in places from the rain, leaving the ground beneath them swollen and looking ready to burst. Erik shoving the thought away as he passed, noticing how more of the gravestones had fallen over in the storm, too timeworn and weary to remain upright.

His footsteps sounded too loud against the steps leading up the porch, his stomach plummeting once he’d reached the doorway to discover there was no light flickering inside. He swallowed, his mouth having gone dry, his palms sweating around the handles of the tureen as he called out very quietly into the dark for Charles. The chapel remained eerily quiet in answer and Erik knew he was alone.

He backed away from the door and went back down the steps and into the graveyard. Charles wasn't here, Erik realized coldly, moving as quickly as he could past the gravestones and back towards the lake. He stilled, looking out across its dark waters, trying to see into the trees on the other side. He could see nothing, only the dark gazing steadily back at him. He stood frozen and indecisive, exposed in the clearing, near the shore of the lake, gazing across to the other side, listening, waiting, and finally came to a decision.

The gentle wind moved the reeds and cattails, whispering to Erik as he passed, letting go of the tureen so that it hung suspended once more on its own while he skirted the edge of the lake. Glancing repeatedly into its waters with suspicion and dread, moving steadily to the other side. The carpet of moss under his feet grew thicker, darker the nearer to the trees he moved. The lake was completely black, the moon reflecting brightly off its placid surface, sending fractures of light Erik’s way until he was swallowed by the shadows of the forest, barely able to see the lake cutting serpentine through the trees ahead of him. He paused, searching for his courage and listening intently for any more sounds coming through the trees, realizing that the lake must give out into the river not too far ahead because he could hear it somewhere in the dark, gurgling over stone.

He swallowed thickly once more and began to follow the slight glints of water into the trees, giving the lake as much berth as he could manage. The terrain grew treacherous; rocky and covered by slick moss that Erik’s dress shoes could find little traction against. The forest alive and brimming with sound the deeper he went; sticks moving and rustling and things he couldn’t see scuttling around in the undergrowth all around him. He forced himself to remain steady and calm, always with one eye on the water, following small pools of moonlight where they spilled down through the branches. He would find the stone cottage if he followed the river, Charles was in the stone cottage, Erik kept repeating to himself, picking his way carefully over stones and crisscrossing tree roots. Looking up suddenly when a twig snapped up ahead of him, the sound echoing sharply through the forest.

He squinted in the dark and was able to make out the outlining shapes of more gravestones protruding at odd angles from the earth; he hadn’t known the graves extended past the chapel, deeper into the forest, alone and bereft of any chance for light. He stood very still, straining hard to hear, the sound of the river close by filling the air with a static white noise that tricked him into hearing faint murmuring voices calling out to him, trying to lure him into the river itself. He started shaking, forcing his feet forward when they began carrying him backwards seemingly of their own accord. Forcing himself to move closer, the gravestones springing up all around from out of the dark, appearing to him from behind trees, crumbling and pocked, riddled with moss and tangled with creeping ivy.

He took another shaking, faltering step forward, his eyes rising from the ground to rest on the pitted grey face of the largest stone he’d yet seen, imposing and blocking his path, its rough surface eaten away by time. He crept closer, suppressing a cry when his foot sank deep into the ground over the grave. His hands grasping tightly to the gravestone before him, anchoring himself as he quickly wrenched his foot free, breathing heavily with his heart pounding from the sudden shock of it. The stone was mottled with moss and patches of white lichen, erasing from sight what was once engraved across its front. Erik gazed at it solemnly while catching his breath, his head snapping up as another stick snapped, closer this time, and he peered hesitantly around the stone, fearful of what he might see.

He could hear footsteps now, coming straight for him, moving swiftly across the ground, his knuckles going white from gripping the stone as tightly as he could, his breaths going shallow once more. Squeezing his eyes shut as he ducked down against the gravestone, hoping it might shield him from sight, and fighting the urge to flinch when he felt a spider dart across the back of his hand. The ground beneath him felt like it might collapse any moment and he clung to the stone as tightly as he could, willing whatever was in the forest with him away, cursing himself for being so stupid.

Whatever it was, it was here with him now, just on the other side of the stone Erik realized with horror, shrinking himself down as small as he could. Sebastian had probably come back and any moment now would catch Erik cowering like a dog at the foot of a grave. He tried to breathe as quietly as he could with his eyes still clenched shut and hoping against hope.

“Erik?” A voice rang out questioning and soft, startling to Erik over the thrumming of his own heartbeat as he threw himself back away from the stone with a wordless cry only to sink through the soil once more, flailing in fear and landing gracelessly onto his back.

“Erik?!” Charles’ voice said worryingly again as he appeared around the side of the stone, staring down at Erik sprawled flat on his back, wide eyed and panting.

“I thought you were – I thought you –” Erik managed in between breaths, looking up at Charles in obvious relief.

“What are you doing?” Charles demanded, raking a hand anxiously through his mess of dark hair and looking around nervously at the trees, back to Erik’s face.

Erik frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “I came to see you, I…” he floundered, looking around for the soup tureen. It was lying tipped over on its side not far from where he lay, though the lid had luckily remained in place. “I brought you soup,” Erik said feebly, crawling forward to retrieve it.

“Erik,” Charles said, “come away from there, the ground here isn’t safe and any one of these stones might collapse onto you.”

Erik stumbled to his feet, looking at Charles curiously for the strange tone of his voice and nodded. Making his way carefully back across the soft ground until he was within Charles’ reach, letting the other pull fretfully on his shirtsleeve until they were both back on more solid ground.

As soon as Erik was safe, Charles turned on him. “You shouldn’t have come here. I  _told_  you not to come here.”

“I wanted to see you.” Erik’s voice sounded weak even to his own ears, raspy and rough from coughing.

Charles was still looking at him grimly though his eyes had softened a bit. “You’re sick.”

Erik nodded, holding out the soup tureen. “I wanted to see you,” he said again.

Charles glanced down at the tureen and back up to Erik’s face. “Oh, Erik,” he sighed, looking torn and biting his lip. His eyes darting uneasily all around the dark of the trees behind Erik.

“I just wanted to see you,” Erik insisted, “you weren’t in the chapel so I came to look for you.”

“It’s not safe,” Charles protested thinly once more.

“Why weren’t you there?” Erik pressed, ignoring Charles’ warning, “I looked for you. Has Sebastian come back?”

Charles closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I just didn’t think you were coming.”

“I looked for you,” Erik repeated, hating that he could hear the hurt in his own voice.

Charles opened his eyes. “This is unbelievably stupid,” he groaned. “Okay, you will do exactly as I tell you from here on, do you understand?”

Erik wanted to grin for the way Charles was scolding him like he was a small child but there was real fear in Charles’ eyes so Erik nodded instead.

“I mean it,” Charles said seriously, “don’t you ever come this way by yourself again.”

Erik’s agreement seemed to placate Charles for the moment, Erik watching as Charles scanned the forest once more with his eyes before turning back to Erik. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“What are we doing?” Erik asked uncertainly.

Charles looked up at him darkly before turning back the way he had come. “Follow me.”

Erik didn’t hesitate to do as Charles asked, letting Charles take him by the hand, guiding him into the dark. The night felt closer the deeper they went, the forest alive with a myriad of sounds that caught and pulled at Erik’s attention. Making him start and glance all around with large eyes but each time Charles hushed him, remaining calm and purposeful at Erik’s side. Further and further in until they met the river, its waters rushing swift and cutting deeply through the trees.

Erik gripped Charles’ hand more tightly along the river bank, especially in the places where the river was swollen from the rain, its edge only a hairsbreadth from their feet. Erik choosing his steps carefully and one at a time over the slick mossy rocks. Charles glanced over at him in the dark, his eyes soft as he squeezed Erik’s hand reassuringly, though he said nothing. A feeling of trepidation had closed over them both, the forest making them feel smaller and more fragile. Charles became more subdued than usual and Erik couldn’t shake the feeling that he was no more than an insect tripping the lines of a spider’s lair the deeper in Charles pulled him. Charles kept stealing glances at Erik and something in his eyes made Erik uneasy and he was just about to voice it when something swooped low over the top of them making Erik jump and nearly cry out as his eyes registered exactly what it was.

Folding its wings and perching on a low branch not far ahead was a barn owl, its large eyes staring unblinking back at Erik, making his heart seize inside his chest. It wasn't very big and so insignificant in appearance that Erik couldn't believe it could house any danger to him and yet there it was, looking at Erik as if it could sense his fear.

“Erik,” Charles said sharply, giving Erik’s hand a tug, “it’s just an owl, it’s all right, come on.”

Erik swallowed thickly. “That’s not Sebastian?”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Definitely not. Sebastian is much bigger than that and would never give you the courtesy of a warning first.”

Erik stared at him horrified but Charles wouldn’t meet his gaze, just kept tugging until Erik came with him, under and past the inconsequential owl.

“It’s not far now,” Charles said quietly, “just around the bend here.”

Erik looked at him worriedly, not liking the way Charles’ voice sounded right then, the way he’d sounded ever since discovering Erik fumbling around in the dark.

“You came back for me?” he asked suddenly, making Charles look over at him.

“I could hear you all the way in the cottage,” Charles admitted, tapping the side of his head. “You sounded afraid.”

Erik followed Charles around a gnarled and hulking tree, half uprooted and leaning out over the river, all its twisted branches pointing them back in the opposite direction. “I…” he started to say but his voice strangled off into silence as they came round to the other side. He froze, his eyes going wide, and at his side so did Charles, though he wasn’t looking at what had caught Erik’s attention but at Erik himself.

The river bank here levelled out, leaving them with a clear path into a small clearing where the cottage rested. Erik could see the top of it from where he stood, surrounded by a copse of trees that Erik saw were strung with hundreds of bones. Vertebrate hanging in lines dangling down from the high branches, spinning in the slight breeze.

“Erik?” Charles said his name very softly but Erik couldn’t look at him nor answer him just yet.

With the trees thinned away the moonlight crept in and Erik could see that many of the trees leading to the cottage were ornamented with more of the same. Sebastian had strung bones everywhere from the trees, in macabre curtains that clanked together every time the wind touched them.

Erik kept trying to speak but no sound came out. _Are those animal bones?_

“Most,” Charles said.

“ _Most_?” Erik whispered.

“Sebastian’s been around for a very long time,” Charles said quietly, “it’s best to just leave it at that.”

“Charles.” Erik shook his head, looking like he might bolt back into the trees.

“Do you understand now why it’s too dangerous for you to be here?” Charles asked.

Erik nodded mutely, stricken and unable to take his eyes off Sebastian’s collection.

“I can take you back now if you like,” Charles whispered and finally Erik was able to turn and look at him.

There was a part of him that sorely wanted to, wanted to walk out of the forest and try and forget what he’d seen there tonight but he couldn’t leave Charles. “I’ve come this far,” he said, looking back toward the cottage, trying to look past the bones. “Take me inside.”

Charles looked ready to argue but after a moment he nodded instead, retaking Erik’s hand again and leading the way into the clearing.

There was crunching under Erik’s feet that he refused to look down at, instead keeping his head held high and noticing that beneath the moonlight, if not for Sebastian’s ghoulish decorations, the cottage in the clearing was actually strangely beautiful. Nestled in amongst the towering trees by the side of the river and taken over by dark green ivy. Erik could see a small yellow glow shining through one of the windows the nearer they approached, flickering and calling out warmly to them. Charles climbed the three steps to the door which creaked open at the touch of his hand, gesturing Erik inside.

The bare wooden floorboards groaned under Erik’s weight, the light from the candle sitting in the window ledge spilling out into the space. It was a single room with three latched windows and a brick fireplace at the head of the room. Beside it there was a bed sunk low on a wooden frame, piled up with mismatched blankets. In the center of the floor stood a small table with two chairs and facing the fireplace, beside the center window was a worn upholstered chair with an ottoman. Towards the back, pushed up against the wall was a beaten up dresser sitting next to a staircase leading up into a dark loft that Erik could see housed another single bed. Along the back wall were cabinets that Erik guessed were storing food and finally in the farthest corner from the door was the tiniest washroom Erik had ever seen, a curtain separating it from view of the rest of the room. There were no pictures hanging on the walls, nothing beyond what was absolutely necessary to give it any sort of homey feel. And certainly nothing that gave the impression that a fifteen year old boy lived there.

Erik gave the space one last cursory glance before his eyes fell on the bed beside the fireplace. “This is yours isn’t it?”

Charles nodded, closing the door on the outside and coming closer. “I keep the rest of my things under the bed.”

Erik set the soup tureen down on the small table and looked at the empty fireplace, relieved to see that Sebastian’s decorating tastes didn’t extend to the inside of the cottage. “The soup’s cold but if you want I think I can get a fire going to reheat it.”

Charles hovered anxiously near his bed. “Just sit down.”

Erik glanced up at him. “But I can –”

“I’ll start the fire,” Charles insisted, reaching out for Erik’s sleeve and dragging him closer, pushing him down on the bed. “Just stay there, you’re sick.”

The bed was soft and despite Erik’s protests he couldn’t help himself from sinking down into the feathery mattress with a small sigh. Watching as Charles began stacking twigs and split birch logs into the fireplace. Toeing off his shoes and pushing himself back onto the bed and into Charles’ pillows. There was a false sense of security that came with having Charles near, even there in Sebastian’s dwelling. With the sticks beginning to crackle and smoke, sending up moving shadows across the walls, he could almost pretend he was home. And on Charles’ bed, with the smell of him clinging to the blankets, Erik could pretend that, not only was he home, but he was home with Charles. Somewhere far away and untouchable by any outside force. He didn’t mean to close his eyes but it happened anyway, lulled down by warmth and the soft flannel quilts of the bed, and the next time he opened them it was because Charles was shaking his shoulder, trying to convince him to sit up.

He bolted upright in shock, eyes darting all around the cottage before settling back on Charles’ face as he rested the back of his hand to Erik’s forehead. “You’re really warm.”

Charles had a fire burning heartily in the grate, the entire room awash in light that chased off the dark and left the space feeling safer, if only in Erik’s imagination. In Charles’ other hand there was a bowl of the soup, steam curling up in front of Erik’s eyes, his stomach growling as he eyed it longingly.

“Here.” Charles set it in his hands, smoothing Erik’s hair back once he’d taken it.

They ate together in silence and afterward, Erik fumblingly removed his clothes, accepting a set of Charles’ pajamas he'd drug out of the dresser.

“Just this once, just for tonight,” Charles murmured, following the progress of Erik’s hands as his fingers slid the buttons of his shirt through their holes. A flush of pink spreading across his cheeks as he turned away, busying himself with the task of taking care of their dishes. Looking up again as Erik flopped back on his bed, pulling the covers up over himself. Waiting until Erik’s eyes were closed to return to the side of the bed, quietly lowering himself into Sebastian’s chair and drawing his knees to his chest while he watched Erik succumb to sleep.

*

The fire had burnt down into coals, glowing bright and warm in the grate as Charles crept into the bed beside Erik, curling around him and nosing at Erik’s shoulder as he cuddled close. Erik’s eyelashes fluttered in his sleep, the tide of his dreams seeking to pull Charles out of himself. He let Erik’s reverie take him, but only briefly, catching a fleeting glimpse of snow falling, heavy and wet in the afternoon air, and Erik’s gloved hand dragging across a chain link fence as he ran home from school before he made himself withdraw, like reeling in a fishing lure from out of the water.  _One way or another, I’m going home_.

Streams of moonlight poured in through the windows, shining desolately across Charles’ eyes as he blinked the damp sting in them away. His thoughts turning vicious in the dark, watching the branches of the trees sway in the night air, the shadows on the wall creeping closer now that the fire had burned down. He could almost hear them whispering if he tried hard enough but that was madness. Outside the wind picked up, howling low and he trembled, pressing himself as close to Erik as he could, unable to resist the urge to comb through his hair again.

“You could stay with me,” Charles whispered against Erik’s skin, his fingers tightening possessively in Erik’s hair as the gnarled and wizened branches tapped restlessly against the glass as if demanding to be let in. Erik stirred, sensing Charles’ distress and mumbled Charles’ name in his sleep and right there in the dark Charles could feel it, the thing he couldn’t bear to put a name to, climbing up his ribs and poisoning his heart.

*

Erik woke in the predawn before Charles, with the moon faded but still visible. Tracing the soft contour of Charles’ cheek with the tip of one finger, touching at the two freckles marking Charles’ nose before rolling over and facing the ceiling. Sensing his loss, Charles shifted, stretching languidly at Erik’s side, his eyes blinking open lazily. He remained sleep soft and still, his mind still fuzzy at the edges until Erik’s face came into focus and he remembered where they both were. The cooler air outside the bed sneaking in as Charles threw back the covers and rose from the bed. Dropping down in front of the fireplace, prodding with an iron poker at the few small coals left smoldering in the ashes, feeding them more twigs to get a small flame going. Erik began dressing quietly behind him, gathering up the soup tureen while Charles surveyed the space, making certain he had erased all traces of Erik’s presence from the cottage.

Erik studied his profile, noting the downcast slump of his shoulders, frowning at Charles from the foot of the bed. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Charles looked up at him in surprise. “Of course.”

Erik had the faint inkling that something had shifted between them, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

“We should go,” Charles said quietly, not giving him a chance to think on it.

He brushed past Erik without waiting for a response, the door creaking open before him and there was nothing left for Erik but to follow. Above them the sky was lightening, song thrushes waking up around them, darting back and forth in the trees and undergrowth.

Like the night before, Charles accompanied Erik nearly all the way back to the forest edge, close enough that Erik could see the outline of the manor house through the trees. He turned, catching Charles’ eye and offered him a faint, uncertain smile.

Charles stared back at him, seemingly at a loss for words as slowly, hesitantly, he took both Erik’s hands in his, sliding up along Erik’s forearms, drawing him in closer. “I’ll miss you,” he said, voice cracking as he wrapped his arms around Erik, clutching at the back of his shirt, hugging him tightly.

“Hey,” Erik murmured to the top of his head, his hand coming up to rub small circles into the back of Charles’ neck. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m coming back.”

Charles’ body shook on an aborted sob, his breaths shuddering against Erik’s shoulder as he shook his head. “Don’t come back tomorrow.”

Erik tensed in Charles’ hold. “Why not?”

“Because,” Charles whimpered, pulling away, “Sebastian could return any time now. It’s better if you stay away.”

“But I can come back,” Erik pressed. “You want me to come back.”

Charles gifted Erik with a watery smile. “After he leaves again, yes.”

“And I’ll be able to tell when that happens?” Erik asked skeptically.

Charles nodded, looking out through the trees at the sky paling into blue. “I have to go now.”

Erik wanted to say so many things, but couldn’t bring himself to utter a word of any of it, so instead he gave Charles as comforting a smile as he could manage and let him go, straining to hear the sounds of Charles’ footsteps as he faded from view until finally he heard nothing at all. Back at the house he didn’t return inside but instead sagged down onto the edge of one of the garden fountains, watching the sky glow fuchsia as the sun rose into the sky. Feeling its warmth soaking onto his face and wondering when Charles had last seen a sunrise, and what he must have felt when he realized he may never see one again, doomed to transform into a swan each time the light touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frédéric Chopin - [Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHPXyBg5e8E)
> 
>  
> 
> German translations for this chapter:
> 
> verpiss dich = piss off/fuck off


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again to [Sophia_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee) for the beta! <3

“Erik, calm down!” Mrs. Elsner commanded over the sound of the faucet running in the sink.

Erik didn’t slow in his pacing, his eyes snapping up in the barest hint of acknowledgment as he strode from one end of the kitchen to the other. “I can’t stay here,” he ground out, glaring first at her then at the straggling members of the kitchen staff as they fled out into the hall.

The afternoon sun glaring through the open windows was bright enough it hurt his eyes. Outside he could hear the water spray of Donald’s hose as he watered Sharon’s blooming azaleas and Ruth’s naive giggling laugh.

Erik’s breath hissed forth between his teeth. “I never should have agreed to this, Ruth could have been sent on her own.  _I_  should have stayed.”

Mrs. Elsner turned the faucet off, staring down into a bowl of freshly peeled and rinsed potatoes. “You are in as safe a place as you could be right now.” Her voice was calm and careful.

“I don’t want to be safe,” Erik snarled vehemently. “I want my damn family back together.”

“ _Erik_.”

“It’s been nearly two months,” his voice cracked. “And after the speech on Friday…” He pulled viciously at his own hair. His eyes pleading when he turned around again, his voice withering. “I can’t stay here.”

Just two days had passed since Hitler’s Reichstag Speech. The speech to the world. It had broadcasted on Kurt’s brand new television set. The Führer’s voice crackling across airwaves out into the room. Erik had been passing the doorway when he heard it, unable to look away and unable to stop himself from shuffling one foot in front of the other to stand rigidly behind Kurt’s leather sofa. Watching dumbstruck as Hitler renounced the German-Polish Non-Aggression Pact, informing Germany and the world that war would mean the end of European Jewry.

The arrangements for him and Ruth to enter England had been made in January. A bustling time of stress for his mother and the deepening of a well of resentment springing up within him. He’d vanished for an entire day after Edie had told him of her plans for him, not returning until the next morning. When he found his mother waiting for him at the kitchen table and saw her face, he vowed he’d never put her through anything like that again.

Hitler had given another speech on January 30, a speech Erik had not seen at the time but was recounted for him now in the hollow grand spaces of Kurt’s mansion.

_These attempts cannot influence Germany in the slightest in the way in which she settles her Jewish problem. On the contrary, in connection with the Jewish question, I have this to say: It is a shameful spectacle to see how the whole democratic world is oozing sympathy for the poor tormented Jewish people, but remains hard-hearted and obdurate when it comes to helping them, which is surely, in view of its attitude, an obvious duty. The arguments that are brought up as an excuse for not helping them actually speak for us as Germans and Italians._  
  
_For this is what they say:_  
  
_First, 'We' — that is, the democracies — 'are not in a position to take in the Jews.' Yet in these empires there are not even ten people to the square kilometer. While Germany with her 140 inhabitants to the square kilometer is supposed to have room for them!_  
  
_Second, they assure us: 'We cannot take them unless Germany is prepared to allow them a certain amount of capital to bring with them as immigrants.'_

There was something inside of Erik clawing its way to the surface, rising up faster than he could tamp it down, heat flushing through him until it felt as though he were engulfed with flames, the pounding of his own heart muffling all other sound in the room.

_Above all, German culture, as its name alone shows, is German and not Jewish, and therefore its management and care will be entrusted to members of our own nation. If the rest of the world cries out with a hypocritical mien against this barbaric expulsion from Germany of such an irreplaceable and culturally eminently valuable element, we can only be astonished at this reaction. For how thankful they must be that we are releasing apostles of culture and placing them at the disposal of the rest of the world. In accordance with their own declarations they cannot find a single reason to excuse themselves for refusing to receive this most valuable race in their own countries. Nor can I see a reason why the members of this race should be imposed upon the German nation, while in the States that are so enthusiastic about these 'splendid people' their settlement should suddenly be refused with every imaginable excuse. I think the sooner this problem is solved the better, for Europe cannot settle down until the Jewish question is cleared up. It may very well be possible that sooner or later an agreement on this problem may be reached in Europe, even between those nations that otherwise do not so easily come together._

There was a blip across the television screen, bars of static marring the picture and Kurt swore, slamming his fist down on the sofa, ordering Erik to get his blasted arse over there and adjust the antennae.

_In the course of my life I have very often been a prophet and have usually been ridiculed for it. During the time of my struggle for power, it was in the first instance the Jewish race that only received my prophecies with laughter when I said that I would one day take over the leadership of the State and with it that of the whole nation and that I would then, among many other things, settle the Jewish problem. Their laughter was uproarious, but I think that for some time now they have been laughing on the other side of their face._

_Today I will once more be a prophet. If the international Jewish financiers in and outside Europe should succeed in plunging the nations once more into a world war, then the result will not be the bolshevization of the earth, and this the victory of Jewry, but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe!_

Erik hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood following Kurt’s order. The colors in the room bleeding in and out as all his focus zeroed in on the electrical waves rolling off the television set. Watching with fascination as slowly, slowly, the picture on the screen blurred away, broadcasting only white noise and static.

Kurt roared furiously, throwing Erik a scathing look over his shoulder as he was forced to get up from the sofa, stomping across the room to manhandle the antennae himself. Muttering an endless stream of insults as he went. Erik didn’t react and still didn’t move, an eerie serenity falling over him as he melted the delicate inner tubing inside the television, frying it from the inside out so that no matter what Kurt did, it would never work again; smoke billowing forth from the seams as its fragile circuitry wires simmered and burned.

There had been a moment where Kurt stood frozen in fury, facing away from Erik, his hulking shape heaving over his ruined purchase, when the gears of his mind seemed to finally click into place. He turned slowly, wearing a peculiar and foreign expression as he assessed Erik, and Erik had felt certain that Kurt knew right then and there what Erik truly was, what he had truly brought into his house. Erik fought to keep his own expression neutral, backing away out into the hall, disappearing back to his room.

Since then he’d been avoiding Kurt at all costs. He took his dinner in his bedroom and was relieved when Kurt and Sharon, strangely enough, didn’t demand his presence at their table. And for the next two days left him to stew alone in his anger, shivering with the urge to tear every ounce of metal free from the house. At night he convinced himself to sleep by wrapping his power around the pendulum of the clock against his wall, the back and forth swing of it hypnotic and soothing.

A breeze blew in through the open windows, making the wind chimes sing outside, grounding Erik in the here and now of the kitchen. He scowled miserably at Mrs. Elsner, his voice much smaller than he intended. “What’s going to happen to us?”

She dropped the dishtowel she’d been holding and came to him swiftly, taking his face in her hands. “Listen to me,” she began with conviction, “your mother did the best she could for you. She wants you and your sister safe. That’s your job now, just staying safe.”

His eyes stung but he didn’t cry. He refused. Mrs. Elsner saw him trying to fight back tears and released him. “You’ve had a long day, why don’t you go and gather your sister and I’ll fetch you both a seedcake before dinner.”

Erik choked out a bitter laugh.  _A seedcake?_  Mrs. Elsner gave him a near pitying look, so he composed himself, scrubbing a hand over his face, and disappeared quickly through the back entrance, stepping out into the glaring sunlight to find Ruth.

*

It had been almost four weeks since he’d last seen Charles. Each and every day, like clockwork, he strayed to the woodland garden and each time a dark sensation came over him, like invisible insects crawling over his skin, telling him Sebastian had returned.

He threw a brooding glare in the forest’s direction before refocusing all his intent on the metal blades of the pruning shears. Slicing the old dead wood of the previous season away from the new growth on the rose bushes, surrounded by scarlet and a sweetness so pungent it nearly made his stomach turn. Across the lawn, at the edge of the manor pond he heard Ruth laughing as one of the stable-hands chased after her. Her laughter and the ease in which she seemed to move through her day was becoming irritating to him. He stared at her, moving swiftly and joyously through the grass, jerking back suddenly in surprise, looking down at his own hand snagged on one of the thorns, a line of blood welling up and oozing down his fingers.

“That’s a nasty scratch you’ve got there,” Donald pointed out from beside him.

“It's fine,” Erik said distractedly, looking up again as Ruth shrieked gleefully and threw herself down on the lawn.

“You sure you don’t want those gloves now?”

“I said it's fine,” Erik repeated stiffly, turning back to his task.

Donald sighed heavily, his mouth twitching with the want to say something but he knew when to leave well enough alone. When they had finished Donald led Erik to the lower garden that wrapped around the back of the house. The colors of the flowers here were softer, less demanding of attention. The smell of lilac and peony drifting along through the air. An array of pastel petals brushing against Erik as he worked, pulling up weeds and pruning away old foliage.

“What are these?” Erik asked when he reached a clustering of white flowers on vivid green stalks.

Donald glanced up briefly. “Paperwhites.”

“Paperwhites,” Erik repeated to himself.

Donald nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “You know those have a mythology to them.

Erik touched his fingers to the delicate, snowy white petals, his thoughts consumed entirely with Charles.

“In Greek mythology,” Donald said, oblivious to the fact that Erik was no longer listening, “one of the stories is that paperwhites were used by Hades to lure the spring goddess Persephone to the Underworld. They represent death and life reborn. Every flower has its own secret language and meaning. I used to choose bouquets for my wife based on lore. You can say a lot of things secretly that way. You might even want to try it yourself when you get a girlfriend.”

“A…what?” Erik asked, tuning back in suddenly.

“A girlfriend,” Donald repeated. “I said you might want to try something like that when you have a girlfriend.”

Erik gave a tightlipped smile, thinking to himself how ridiculous the prospect of a girlfriend and a secret flower language was as he yanked a dandelion up from the soil.

“Erik,” Ruth said giddily from behind him, causing him to pause.

“Well hello there, young miss,” Donald said, snipping a tulip from its stem and offering it to her.

Ruth beamed delightedly. “May I?” she asked, wanting to pick the flowers.

“Of course,” Donald said cheerfully. “In fact, Erik do you think you can handle the rest of this on your own? I’ve got to fetch some vegetables for the kitchens.”

Erik nodded absently, not looking up as Donald left him and Ruth alone.

He watched her from the peripheral of his vision as she began plucking peonies one by one, raining petals down around him.

“Will we celebrate the Shavuot this year?” she asked brightly.

Erik tensed and frowned down at the dirt. “No.”

This earned him a slight whine from her. “Why not?”

“Ruth,” Erik said sharply, throwing his pruning shears to the ground. “Do you not see what’s happening here?”

She stared at him openly, her flower bouquet seeming to wilt in her hands. “Erik?”

“Just never mind,” he grumbled. “Go back to playing.”

“But, Erik…”

“I said go,” he snapped without looking at her and he still didn’t look at her as she left.

Later in the day as the sun was beginning to dip down toward the horizon, and Erik was nearly finished with his task; the Markos' flowerbeds pruned and free from weeds, Ruth returned. The anger had finally bled out of him, leaving him ashamed as he watched her approach. She had woven a flower crown for herself, wearing it atop her head like a faerie princess. She carried another in her hand.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he whispered shamefacedly once she was close enough. Startled as Ruth hugged him tightly. “What is this?” he asked with a small smile, plucking the crown from her.

“I made you one too,” she beamed and Erik made himself grin as she offered it to him.

“That’s nice, Ruth, truly. Thank you, I’ll –”

“For you to wear,” she said firmly, taking it back from him and tugging him down to place it on his head, smiling at her own handiwork as she studied him.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, embarrassed and hurrying to finish up with his chores.

He’d taken care of the gardening tools and was coming back with Ruth toward the house when Cain appeared from around the hedges. As soon as he saw Erik he clutched at his stomach and began to laugh, loud and uproariously.

“Oh, Erik,” he cried, “I always knew you were an uphill gardener.”

Erik slowed his stride to glare at him. “ _A what_?”

“ _You know_ ,” Cain chuckled, holding his wrist out limply. “A gentleman of the backdoor. An arse bandit.”

Erik snatched the flower crown from his head and gestured Ruth harshly inside. Desperately trying to ignore Cain’s laughter following after him. He’d made it halfway inside when he remembered that he hadn’t locked up the garden shed. Cursing himself and shoving Cain, doubled over with laughter out of his way, he ran back across the lawn just as the sun was sinking away from sight. He gave the chain a cursory tug after he’d sealed the padlock and was preparing to turn away when he chanced a glance off toward the forest.

An owl sat in a tree at the edge of the woodland garden, large and fixed perfectly still on its perch as it gazed eerily back at him, a shiver crawling up his spine as he made himself turn away. Frowning as Kurt appeared through the main door of the house, climbing inside his black car and speeding off down the drive. After a moment, the owl followed. Flying seemingly straight for Erik as he shrank up against the shed, watching as the owl passed soundlessly over him and down the drive after Kurt’s receding car. Its shadow stretching vast across the ground.

_They’re meeting with each other for something_ Erik thought at the same time he realized that he’d just seen Sebastian. His gaze was drawn back to the forest. It would be dark soon and right at this very moment, Charles was safely alone. He considered it for a very long time but eventually, knowing Sebastian could and likely would return at any time, he abandoned the idea and returned to the house.

Kurt didn’t appear at dinner that night when Erik finally decided, at Ruth’s pestering, that he should rejoin the table. Something that clearly wasn’t a common occurrence if Cain’s reaction was anything to go by.

“Where has Father gone?” Cain demanded of Sharon over his treacle pudding.

Sharon blinked as if awakening from a trance. “It’s nothing to worry over, Dear. Your father just needs some time to himself is all.”

“And he can’t get that in this castle of a house.” The words escaped Erik before he even thought to stop them. He waited for Sharon’s disapproval and was shocked when it didn’t come.

Instead she looked up at him brightly and asked, “More treacle, Darling?”

Afterward as he was helping clean up in the kitchen and polishing off the rest of the pudding he overheard two of the older members of the staff whispering about Kurt’s whereabouts. Discovering through their hushed muttering that Kurt had been routinely leaving the house at the end of each month to meet and get drunk with a business partner, and Erik couldn’t help himself from wondering if it wasn’t Sebastian.

*

Erik’s dreams lately had become increasingly and upsettingly colored by lust and tonight was no exception. Flashes of Charles, eager and moaning beneath him making him twitch against the mattress. Erik's hands on him, lazy and slow, and Charles fitting his back to Erik's chest, pressing into the contact and tipping his head back to find Erik’s lips. Erik’s touch drifting from Charles' belly to rub at his hips before Charles made an impatient sound and Erik finally wrapped warm, sure fingers around him. He was gentle and slow, finding Charles' lips again and again until Charles whimpered in his mouth, Erik grinning against his skin for the way Charles' body was wracked with tiny shudders, his hips jerking helplessly when Erik's grip tightened. The sky in his dream growing dark and threatening above them both as Erik pulled a strangled cry past Charles’ lips. A heated flush crawling along his skin as his groin and abdomen grew taut, tighter and tighter until his muscles were spasming hard enough to wake him. Panting and drenched in sweat as he discovered he’d come in his sleep pants.

He lay on his back shaking for several long minutes while the heated, sticky mess in his pants cooled. He was incredibly fucked, no matter how hard he tried explaining this away. He growled low in frustration, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as he fought back a wave of nausea over what he had just done. How could this have happened to him? What the hell was wrong with him? Cain’s words from earlier returned to haunt him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, letting his bare feet touch the cold floor.

No one could know about any of this. He’d purposefully been avoiding pleasuring himself since he’d arrived. Only ever allowing himself to give in to need when he had the guaranteed privacy of the bathroom. Now though he’d made a mess of his pants, breathing evenly and pushing all his dark thoughts away as he carefully rose from the bed. Wincing as the floor creaked beneath him. It felt as though as soon as someone took one look at him, they would know he’d had a wet dream about another boy.

The laundry room was on the ground floor of the house. All he had to do was sneak down there and put his pants in the wash and no one would ever be the wiser to the dark stain that had bloomed against the fabric. He changed quickly, wiping himself down with a damp cloth before gathering up his pants and heading downstairs. Once there, he dumped them into the wringer washing machine along with some of his other clothes and started the machine up. Sighing with relief as he made his way back to his room. Freezing midway up the staircase as he heard a sound like breaking glass and what he knew was Sharon crying.

He could just return now back to his bed and try and put all this behind him but his curiosity got the better of him as he crept back down the stairs, following the sounds of Sharon’s cries. Stilling abruptly just outside the living room when he heard Kurt’s impatient voice admonishing her.

“It’s just like you,” Kurt said harshly, “to be weak. How many times have we had this conversation, hmm? How many times, Sharon?”

“He’s just a boy,” Sharon wailed.

“He’s a  _freak_  and I won’t have that in my house.”

“Kurt,” Sharon’s voice pleaded. Erik’s eyes widened in the dark as he distinctly heard the sound of Kurt slapping her, followed by Sharon’s shocked cry.

“Shut up,” Kurt snarled, “how many times do I have to tell you to shut up? Are you my wife or are you still Brian’s bitch?”

Kurt overturned one of the tables while Sharon pleaded with him to stop.

“Stop it!” Erik said loudly, bursting into the room to find Kurt looming over Sharon. Shards of a broken wine glass laying at their feet.

“You,” Kurt hissed as his eyes narrowed. “How dare you raise your voice to me like that in my own house.”

“You’re drunk,” Erik said, reaching for Sharon.

“You know,” Kurt sneered, “people like you truly are a blight on this world. Pathetic and weak, we’d be better off without the lot of you.”

“Shut up,” Erik said evenly. It wouldn’t help to rise to Kurt’s bait.

“You’ve brought nothing but misery to me since the moment you arrived here,” Kurt went on. “You’ve been a complete embarrassment.”

“Shut up!” Erik exploded. “Just shut up!”

He cut off as Kurt made a grab for him, Sharon scrambling at Kurt’s jacket to stop him. “Kurt!” she shrieked, “Kurt, no!”

Erik backed away toward the door and Kurt slowed to a stop, Sharon still clutching at the back of his jacket. She stared at Erik with wide, glassy eyes. “You’re just trying to help, aren’t you, Sweetheart?” she panted. Kurt seethed and took another step forward. “He’s just a foolish boy, Darling. Just foolish, that’s all. He won’t bother us again. Will you, Erik?”

Erik couldn’t believe that Sharon would actually try and console the man that had just laid his hand against her.

“We all just need to calm down now, yes?” She said into the tense quiet of the room. “Sweetheart, back to bed with you.”

Erik had no idea how he would ever sleep after what he’d seen. He stared for a moment at Kurt, still heaving with fury, then at Sharon, who nodded to him encouragingly, and finally decided it best to just leave the room.

Back in his bed, he curled into a ball on his side, pretending that he was back home. That in the morning he would wake up and be back in his own bed in Poland, that he would hear the clunk of his father’s boots hitting the floor as he left in the quiet, dark hour before dawn, the soapstone wood burner warm and comforting in the dark and slip back safely into sleep once more.

*

After what had happened between the three of them Sharon had returned mostly to herself once again, though Erik couldn’t help but see her in a new light. She decided that really what they all needed was a happy trip into London. Do some shopping, maybe see a movie at the theatre. Erik didn’t need to avoid Kurt because now Kurt avoided him. Erik not seeing him until the Friday Sharon had chosen for their trip. And Erik was given no choice but to go. Riding along in silence, watching the countryside go by outside the window.

Once actually in London Kurt disappeared with Cain, leaving Erik alone with Sharon and Ruth. What he wanted was to be on his own so he pleaded with Sharon, swearing he would meet them all back in front of Paddington Station before four in the afternoon, he was granted his wish. He thought that perhaps he might prefer London at times to the country. There was metal everywhere he turned; new building construction, steel girders and cable lines lacing through the city, and piping laid deep in the ground. He passed several bookstores, unable to prevent himself from thinking fondly of Charles and how he would like to be where Erik was now, idly passing time beneath grey skies. For a while Erik amused himself by people watching, staring fascinated at families as they hurried along. Though after a while his thoughts grew dark again. Every family he ever heard of or ever saw always consisted of a man and a woman, society gave no other option. And what did that mean for him but a lifetime spent alone, growing old and bitter, yearning for the things he could never have. He’d never been attracted to girls and until recently had never questioned it, had never let the implications of that grow too heavy. Now though, he tried picturing what his life would be like in some faraway future and could see only emptiness. He couldn’t deny any longer that he desired Charles but what could that ever lead to? They could never be together in the ways in which others Erik’s age came together. They couldn’t go out on dates or hold hands in public. They could never be married.

He was heading back, feeling sullen and dejected when he spotted the army recruitment office just on the other side of the street, the signs out front touting the imminence of war and the growing threat of the German army. He stared at it for a long, long time, glancing up finally at the overcast sky as it gave a low rumble and headed across the street, grabbing a couple fliers from the recruitment office before continuing on his way.

Sharon had given him a small amount of money that he tried to refuse but she wouldn’t hear of it so he finally disappeared into one of the bookstores on the way back and reappeared with  _The Hound of the Baskervilles_  by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle before continuing on his way.

Once back at the house Erik stowed Charles’ present in his dresser and went on with keeping himself occupied by helping out the staff. Later that night when he returned blearily to his room he found a package waiting for him on his bed. He peeled away the wrappings carefully, speechless and shocked to find heavy sketchbooks and charcoal pencils along with oil paints and brushes waiting for him. Along with a note that simply read  _‘From Sharon’_  written in her dainty looping scrawl.

He sank down on the bed, turning the brushes over in his hand and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, unsure what to think of it all.

*

The next morning he gathered one of his new sketchbooks and the charcoal pencils, along with a loaf of bread and ventured to the coast. Picking his way down a jagged and rocky incline to the beach. Despite it being May, the sea was far too cold to wade in but he still couldn’t resist stripping himself of his shoes and dipping his bare feet in. Walking along through the sand with the sea foam rolling up to his ankles. From here he could see the small coastal village, Lynmouth, and see the boats moored in the harbor, rocking back and forth with the waves, the sea waters grey and reflecting the murky and overcast sky. The seagulls wailed above him and farther down the beach, congregated in a large group, he found swans. He stilled with his sketchbook in hand, staring out at them, wondering if Charles was among them as he stepped back from the water and sank down onto the sand.

Most of the swans shied away at his approach, drifting far enough from shore that he had no chance of ever reaching them but some were bold and possibly accustomed to being fed because they came closer, peering at him curiously. He shivered in the breeze coming in off the water as he folded his sketchbook open, looking up suddenly with a smile as he felt Charles brush across his mind. It was muted and different feeling somehow, like a radio transmission coming to him from far away, or a voice whispering in another room. And he watched as one of the swans separated itself from the others and came close enough to shore that he could reach out and touch it if he wanted.

“Hello,” Erik whispered, reaching out his hand to stroke Charles’ feathers. “I brought you something,” he said softly, reaching into his bag for the loaf of bread he’d stolen out from under Mrs. Elsner. “I’m sorry it’s not much,” he murmured, tearing a chunk off and holding it out, smiling gently as Charles ate it eagerly from his hand.

They continued in this way, with Erik tearing off pieces of bread for Charles to eat while Erik stared out at the water, at the filmy sunlight that couldn’t quite seem to break through the heavy clouds.

“I miss you,” Erik said suddenly, still staring out at the sea. Knowing with a dreaded certainty that no matter what happened now, he would always want Charles. His dream sprang suddenly to mind and he immediately pushed it away. Nervously looking at Charles and praying he didn’t hear the thought or see the images inside Erik’s head. Everything about them was off and wrong, he knew, and he should stop himself from delving any deeper than what he already had. But Charles was the best friend he’d never had and no matter what, he decided, he wouldn’t give him up.

Charles prodded at his empty hand with his bill and Erik looked down at him, smiling again as he tore another piece free and fed it to him.

*

There was charcoal smudging his hands and the edges of his sleeves as he worked. Creating sketch upon sketch of Charles as a swan and eventually when the longing and loneliness started to eat away at him, drawings of Charles as himself. The curve of his cheek and the dark mess of his hair, his large eyes. None of it was in color but it didn't matter, he could see Charles vividly each time he looked at them. His smile or the way his eyes scrunched up when he laughed. He thought he’d like to try painting Charles next.

He was on his floor with his sketchpad laid out in front of him, trying to still his hands in their shaking. His nerves feeling like they're fraying, not knowing what sort of state his parents were in and not having seen Charles in what felt like ages. All his previous sketches and drawings he’d carefully laid out across his bed, comparing each one to the next, critiquing his own work. His eyes shifting between the bed and his sketchbook when his door knob turned and Cain came sauntering into his room. Erik tensed just at the sight of him. He wanted to scramble for his drawings and put them away but didn't, knowing that it would just make Cain more interested.

Cain strode into the room with a pompous air of entitlement, glancing at Erik and the drawing he was working on, over to the sketches laying across his bed.

“Why do you waste your energy on such a meaningless pursuit?” Cain asked, shutting the door behind him.

Erik frowned at the closed door then at Cain randomly picking up and inspecting his things strewn about the room. He had ahold of one of Erik’s paint brushes when he said, “Father’s really upset you know, about all the animosity between the two of you. He finds it all very regrettable.”

Erik stared at him in confusion, as far as he knew, Kurt couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

“Because he says you have the makings of an  _excellent_ servant,” Cain grinned maliciously. Erik turned back to his drawing with viciousness. Cain watched him consideringly for a moment. “One day I’ll inherit this house,” he said the words with finality, still studying Erik failing in his attempt to ignore him. “Perhaps if you’re good there will be a position available for you.”

Erik could feel his face reddening with anger. “What about Charles?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Charles?” Cain said disbelievingly.

“Yes, Charles. Sharon’s son. Shouldn’t he be the one who inherits this house?”

Cain laughed. “Oh, Erik, such a simpleton. You really don’t know do you? Charles is certifiably insane. Completely nuts and locked up forever in the loony bin. He won’t be inheriting this house.”

Erik rose angrily to his feet at Cain’s words.

“What do we have here?” Cain asked suddenly taking a look at Erik’s sketches. “ _Swans_?” he laughed again, and on closer inspection while Erik held his breath, noticed the sketches of Charles.

Please don’t let him recognize Charles, Erik thought frantically.

“ _And a boy, Lehnsherr_?  _You’re drawing swans and boys_? You really are a bloody homosexual aren’t you?”

Erik tried everything to convince himself to refrain from punching Cain square in the face. He even tried counting back from ten like his mother always told him to do. His hands balled into fists though and he had to forcibly unclench them as Cain suddenly flopped forward onto his bed, crinkling the drawings beneath him.

“Get up and leave,” Erik said through gritted teeth. He was shaking from head to toe.

Cain rolled over onto his back, looking up at Erik with a pleased smirk. “I still can’t believe you think Charles could ever inherit this place.”

“Just get out.”

“I broke his arm once,” Cain said serenely. “Shoved him down the stairs. You should have heard the sound it made, and seen his face.”

Erik’s hands twitched at his sides, his breath coming sharp and uneven. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“This is my house,” Cain replied calmly as he pushed himself up off the bed, “and I can do whatever I want and go wherever I please. But I’ll admit, I am feeling rather overworked at the moment so I think I’ll retire. You’ve been fun though, Lehnsherr.”

Erik shut his eyes, trying to count backwards again, waiting for Cain to leave him alone. He could hear Cain’s feet shuffling across the floor, opening the door to exit Erik’s room but he paused in the open doorway, not moving until Erik opened his eyes to look at him.

“I heard Father talking about the concentration camps in Germany,” Cain said to him. “As I understand it, your father was arrested this last November, yes?”

Erik’s feet were carrying him toward Cain and still Cain continued to speak, oblivious to Erik’s intentions.

“And if I’m to understand Father correctly, then  _your_  father is probably already dead,” Cain said, the beginnings of another smile forming before it was wiped away by Erik’s fist.

Erik’s blood pounded in his ears as he watched Cain collapse onto the floor, sprawled halfway out into the hall. Cain’s eyes wide open in shock, his lip split open and dribbling blood down his chin.

“You hit me,” he slurred dazedly.

Erik couldn’t speak, consumed by anger and unable to stop himself from trembling. Watching with rage darkened eyes as Cain staggered to his feet, touching at the blood on his face. He looked at it smeared on his fingertips and started to scream at the top of his lungs for Kurt.

Erik heard him stomping his way up the stairs, growling out that Cain had better have a very good reason for screaming like a bloody fool. He made it partially down the hall and was almost to Erik’s bedroom door when he froze, looking at Cain’s tearstained and bloody face and then to Erik, still lingering above Cain.

“This is the final straw I tell you,” Kurt bellowed at Erik. “Cain stop simpering like a girl. Go and clean yourself up at once, haven’t I told you before that boys don’t cry?” Cain sniffed a few more times before slowly dragging his feet down the hall.

Erik made to shut his door but was prevented by Kurt banging it back open again, grabbing Erik by his shirt collar and dragging him forward until Erik could feel Kurt’s breath hitting his face.

“If I had my way,” Kurt snarled, “you’d be out on the street.”

Erik tried to shove away from him but Kurt just drug him back in again. “You think I don’t know how to deal with a problem in my house, you sonofabitch? It’s just unfortunate there are people who know you’re staying here, putting me in a difficult spot. You see it will look poorly if I force you out, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to continue to allow you to hole yourself up in this room. You are vermin to me, do you understand? And I want you out of this room by morning. You can take your shit down to the servant’s quarters. And from now on, I don’t want to see you anymore than I have to.” He released Erik’s collar and with a departing sneer strode back off down the hall after Cain.

Erik’s knees had turned to gelatin, giving out from under him as he sank down the wall to the floor, forcing himself to breathe again.

*

Over the course of twenty-four hours Erik had moved down into one of the empty servant rooms only to end up hauling everything back up to his own room again at Sharon’s insistence. She had won over Kurt, persuading him by pointing out that their friends would find it rather shameful to see that one of their foster children were being treated no better than the help. Erik did his best to remain out of Kurt’s sight however, mulling to himself back in his room on how much he truly hated Kurt, scheming up ways to make him pay for everything he’d done, specifically everything he’d done to Charles.

Each night after sundown he isolated himself in his room and in the morning left right after breakfast to visit Charles at the seashore. Feeding him by hand and staying with him until the sun was melting into the water and Charles stretched his feathery wings wide, forced to leave Erik alone again.

He was there with his swan so often that he’d caught the attention of others. Mothers taking their children to the beach commenting on his tame, handfed swan, encouraging their children to feed him. Charles accepted bread and crackers from them enthusiastically and regardless of how ridiculous or how stupid he knew he was being, Erik couldn’t help himself from feeling a sting of jealousy each time Charles ate from another’s hand.

It was on one such afternoon that he felt a subtle change in Charles’ presence in his mind. Something that mimicked what he had felt the very first time Charles had led him into the forest. He looked up from his sketchbook, grinning, and whispered, “Sebastian’s gone away again, hasn’t he?”

That night, after informing Mrs. Elsner that he would need food again for his friend, he made himself wait until after Kurt left the dining room to attempt sneaking out. Watching the sky darken through his window until it was littered with stars. Charles would have changed back by now but Erik was certain that this time Charles would wait for him. When Ruth came to his door and told him Kurt had retired to his study for the evening, Erik felt safe enough to slip away. Collecting the book he’d bought in London along with the leftover roast beef from dinner and slipping out the back entrance.

“You’re going to see Charles again tonight, aren’t you?” Ruth asked, following him outside.

“Yes,” Erik said flatly. He was feeling selfish and didn’t want her to come. He and Charles hadn’t seen each other in weeks and all he wanted now was to have Charles to himself and tell him everything that had gone wrong.

“We should take him flowers,” she said, unaware of his thoughts.

He turned to look at her, smiling up at him enthusiastically. He was being an ass and he knew it. Charles wanted a garden and here Erik was surrounded by an explosion of blooming flowers and Ruth was the one who thought enough to take them to him.

“Paperwhites,” Erik said. “We have to get paperwhites.”

Ruth beamed and began gathering peonies and tulips, mixing them together with paperwhites and lavender roses until she deemed they had a large enough bouquet and followed Erik up the hill and through the trees. As Erik suspected, Charles was waiting for him on the steps of the chapel.

“Erik!” Charles called out excitedly, springing up from the bottom step. “You came back.”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Erik had him, hugging him tightly and burying his face in Charles’ soft, dark hair, breathing him in. “God, I missed you,” he groaned. “I swear everyone in that house is mental.” Charles chuckled softly into his shoulder.

“When did Sebastian leave?” Erik asked, pulling away.

“Yesterday,” Charles said, resettling back on the steps. He was staring at the flowers in Ruth’s hands curiously. “What’s this?”

“We picked them for you,” Ruth said shyly, holding them out for Charles to take.

“Did you?” Charles said with a growing smile, accepting the flowers from Ruth’s hands. He stared down at them, carefully touching their petals. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve last seen any of these? They’re…” Charles trailed off, staring up at Ruth with shimmery eyes. “Thank you.”

Ruth beamed back at him in delight and looked at Erik who shifted on his feet awkwardly, remembering that he had the book. “And I got you this,” he said lamely.

Charles set the flowers in his lap before taking it, running his hand over its cover. He smiled at Erik in silent thanks, a sudden flood of warmth washing over Erik.

“Also,” Erik said, dropping down beside him and offering the container with the roast beef, “food.”

“Do we have to stay in the chapel?” Ruth interrupted, wrinkling up her nose.

“Have a better plan, do you?” Erik asked.

“We should build a campfire,” she said excitedly.

“ _Ruth_.”

“No,” Charles cut Erik off. “She’s right, we should.” He leaned away from Erik, looking at Ruth conspiringly. “We’ll build a fire and make Erik tell us scary stories.” Beside him Erik sighed showily, getting up and disappearing into the chapel for the matches and twig bundles.

They constructed their fire away from the graveyard, closer to the lake. Feeding it clumps of moss, dropped branches and twigs until it was able to sustain itself. Sending out light and shadows in every direction, the glow of it reflecting off the smooth black surface of the lake. Settling around in the soft night air while Erik told the story Rumpelstiltskin mainly for Ruth’s benefit. Though he couldn’t help himself from looking at Charles again and again, the firelight glowing warm against his skin. Raising an eyebrow when Charles declared that he should act out the story while he told it.

“Yes,” Ruth pleaded with him, amidst a fit of giggles. “Act it out, Erik.”

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik sighed.

“Go on,” Charles laughed. “Do as the lady says.”

Erik groaned but rose to his feet and began again. “To-day I bake, to-morrow brew –”

“No, no,” Charles grinned. “Do the voices too.”

Erik stared at him hard and taking a deep breath, did his best impression of the imp. He jumped and hopped on one foot, shouting before the firelight:

“To-day I bake, to-morrow brew,

the next I'll have the young queen's child.

Ha, glad am I that no one knew

that Rumpelstiltskin I am styled.”

He held back a smile as Charles and Ruth collapsed over into laughter.

Ruth fell asleep not long after he was finished. Finally giving him the privacy he wanted since leaving the manor house.

“Kurt came to see me,” Charles said suddenly.

Erik looked at him in alarm. “What?”

“He came not long after Sebastian returned, asking me if you’d come here. What I knew about you. He was angry, Erik. So angry. He suspects you of being like me but he isn’t sure.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What do you think? I told him I didn’t know anything about you and that you’d never come to the forest.”

Heat was rising in Erik’s face in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. “And then he left you alone after that?”

Charles sputtered a weak laugh. “No, he started raving like a lunatic, saying I was a liar but by then Sebastian had gotten bored with him and sent him away.”

Erik shook his head in anger. “I hate him,” he whispered. “There’s something wrong with him. Why did he volunteer his house for us if he didn’t want us around? Why go through any of it?”

“He didn’t,” Charles said quietly, looking into the fire. “Sharon wanted it. Not him.”

Erik stared at Charles’ profile. “Sharon? But why? If she never wanted children…”

“I think after all this time she’s gotten lonely,” Charles answered, his voice lowering down until it was barely above a whisper. “I read Kurt’s mind, it was never his idea to bring you here.”

“Charles,” Erik began carefully. “I saw Kurt hitting her. They were arguing. I think it was about you and…I tried to stop it but I don’t know how long it’s been going on.”

Charles didn’t look surprised the way Erik had expected. “It’s been happening since the beginning.”

“You know about it?”

Charles laughed ill-humoredly in response.

“She got me art supplies after, like I wanted for my birthday,” Erik went on bewilderedly. “She didn’t say anything, just left them for me in my room, and I haven’t known what to say to her since.”

“It’s how she expresses her feelings,” Charles said with a feeble smile. “She buys you something rather than having to say anything.”

Erik scrubbed a hand over his face. “Kurt tried throwing me out of my room and she made sure he didn’t.”

Charles met his gaze curiously. “What did you do?”

“Punched Cain in the face,” Erik grinned. “He’s been staying away from me ever since.”

Charles fought to keep himself from laughing and failed. The sound ringing exuberantly in the clearing and Erik couldn’t stop tracing the shadows on Charles’ face with his eyes.

“You never told me Cain broke your arm,” he said quietly and Charles immediately sobered.

“It’s not important anymore.”

“Charles.”

“Please tell me that’s not why you hit him.”

“No,” Erik growled. “I hit him because he started talking about my father and no one gets to talk about my father, especially not that horrible beast.”

Charles composed himself further. “You really shouldn’t have hit him though.”

“I didn’t plan to,” Erik said. “But after everything I couldn’t stop myself.”

“He’s never gotten under your skin quite so badly before,” Charles observed.

Erik nodded in agreement. “I watched Hitler give a speech on Kurt’s television and I couldn’t…things are getting really bad, Charles. I ruined Kurt’s television...”

“You ruined Kurt’s television,” Charles echoed in shock. “No wonder he suspects you of being like me.”

“And Cain’s been following me around like some damn poltergeist, always making horrible remarks, always making me angry. Now he’s taken to calling me a homosexual.” The words were out of Erik’s mouth before he could stop his litany. The images from his dream of him and Charles lighting up in solid detail in his thoughts. He panicked, his eyes going wide and tried frantically to think of anything else, praying that Charles didn’t see.

“I see,” Charles said gently. “And um…”

“ _I’m not_ ,” Erik said forcefully. “I’m…”

“Erik.”

“I don’t know, it’s all so messed up,” Erik said with obvious frustration.

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles repeated, “I think the fire could use a little more wood.”

Erik looked relieved and grateful for the distraction, moving away to feed more sticks into the fire, ash and glowing sparks drifting up from the flames like earthbound stars. The sticks snapping and hissing as they burned, the firelight making Erik and Charles’ young shadows appear monstrous. For a moment Erik remained with his back to Charles, staring into the flames, listening to the wood crackling and Ruth’s deep breathing.

When Erik returned to sink back down beside Charles, he was unwilling to break his own awkward silence. Just sat listening for a while to the hiss of the flames, zoning out so that when Charles reached over to take his hand it startled him but he didn’t object. His eyes slanting down to watch as Charles carefully cradled Erik’s hand in both of his, stroking over the pulse in Erik’s wrist with his thumb. Erik shivered in response, unable to suppress the quick-footed images flashing through his mind, looking at Charles as if he’d never truly seen him before because surely, surely, Charles has read his thoughts, and there had been that moment the last time they’d been together, when Erik was sure Charles would kiss him. And here and now with the warmth of him for how close they are, Erik found himself wishing that Charles would.

He had no concept of what time it was, glancing at Charles from time to time out of the corner of his eye. Watching him grow drowsy until he was leaning into Erik with his eyes closed, pliant and warm. The fire had died back down again and Erik knew dawn wasn’t far off, watching morning fog rising up on the lake and all around them until they were wreathed in by it. Erik startling slightly when he heard a mournful call answered by another somewhere on the darkness of the water.

“Loons,” Charles said sleepily. “Aren’t their songs beautiful?”

And they were. Resounding mournfully through the dark, wrapping around them both. Charles laid his head against Erik’s shoulder and sighed, and Erik knew he should say something, should explain how this thing growing between them was dangerous. How they should both be dealing with it rather than letting it fester and grow.

Charles touched his cold forehead to Erik’s cheek and breathed a sound that might have been Erik’s name. Erik went completely still, feeling the brush of Charles’ eyelashes against his skin as he shifted, turning his head just slightly and Charles kissed him. Closed mouthed, just a whisper press to his lips before Charles pulled away again, peering uncertainly into his eyes. Erik’s breath ghosted shuddery and measured against Charles’ face, his eyes filled with something akin to terror as Charles leaned in to kiss him again, just a little bit harder, just a fraction more insistent. Growling in frustration when Erik’s mouth remained slack against his, winding his fingers into Erik’s hair as he tried pulling away, digging into his scalp, holding him place.

“ _I can’t_ ,” Erik pleaded breathily.

“Shh, shh,” Charles soothed. His eyes sliding closed as he mouthed gently at Erik’s bottom lip. A pleased sound escaping him when Erik raised a trembling hand to the back of his neck and finally started kissing back. Charles parted his lips, making a small broken sound as Erik’s tongue brushed against his, his hands dragging through Erik’s hair and down his back. The heat from Charles’ mouth spreading through Erik like an infection until he was burning everywhere with it. His heart feeling like it was going to pound out of his chest, a freedom singing through his blood unlike any he’d ever known. But just as he firmed his touch on Charles, pulling him closer, Charles’ entire body seized, his fingers clutching at the back of Erik’s shirt as he broke their kiss with a pained groan.

Erik looked at him panicked, fearful he’d find Charles disfigured and ruined from their kiss. He said Charles’ name, smoothing his hands down along Charles’ arms like he was trying to put him back together. Charles groaned again and began clawing at his own skin and Erik understood what was wrong.

“ _No_ ,” Erik whispered, running his hands back over Charles’ arms again, wanting to prevent the transformation from happening. “Don’t leave. Please. Stay with me.”

Charles started to cry soundlessly, just a slight shaking of his shoulders, making Erik’s heart ache inside his chest, painful and stinging. Searching for any way to make Charles stop because he couldn't stand to sit there and watch him cry.

Charles pitched forward, moaning again and clutching at his abdomen, crawling forward on his hands and knees in the moss. Erik followed him, touching Charles’ back and looking up to see the sky glowing brighter and brighter. Looking down again when Charles sobbed raggedly, rolling over on his side and tugging at the front of his shirt. Crying and pleading with Erik to make it stop hurting. Erik could do nothing but rub along Charles’ spine, fighting not to flinch at the way the bones felt like they were moving, rearranging themselves under Charles’ skin. Working to help Charles out of his clothes, undoing the buttons for him when Charles’ hands began shaking too much to manage the task.

His bare skin finally free to the daylight, Erik watched as dawn luminescence touched Charles’ freckled shoulders, and then he was changing. A strangled sound leaving his throat as he thrashed on the ground. Erik held onto him until it was over and in Charles’ place there was a swan that Erik petted reverently again and again. He looked up to see Ruth staring at them both white faced in horror with tears streaming down her face as she came forward slowly and dropped down beside Erik while he pulled the swan to his lap and together they continued to pet Charles’ trembling body. Looking up together at the sky as the sun came pouring into the clearing.

*

Erik laid back across his bed, staring up at the ceiling, watching dust sparkling in a beam of morning sunlight above him. He wanted to visit Charles at the beach but couldn't bring himself to go and he didn’t know what would happen when he faced Charles later that night. They’d both gone too far, he knew. He should have stopped it, put an end to it before it even began. But no matter how many times he told himself those things, he couldn’t make himself regret it. Their kiss had been one of the few perfect things he’d experienced in a long time.

He sighed, feeling tired and uncertain, the bright colors of the army recruitment fliers catching his eye as he shifted, turning over on his bed to face away from the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized text is from Hitler’s Reichstag speech given on January 30, 1939


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks again to my lovely beta [Sophia_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee) <3
> 
> Thank you so much to [chazstity](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/), who created some amazingly beautiful artwork for this fic which you can see [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/117880342701/the-swan-is-probably-the-most-beautiful-fic-ive) and [here](http://chaezthetic.tumblr.com/post/117823505148/i-literally-cant-put-more-than-2-energy-into)
> 
> (chazstity created some new, unbelievably gorgeous art that you can see [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/118338117986/honestly-if-i-had-the-time-id-draw-the-whole-of))

_1939, August 31_

Erik sat at the very edge of the shore with his trousers rolled up to his knees and his feet submerged just enough to satisfy Charles as he watched the other treading water in the center of the lake. He shrugged his shoulders back, grimacing as the movement peeled his shirt away from his tacky and overheated skin. He wished it wasn’t so unbearably hot and decided that it might not be so terrible if not for the clinging humidity, though Donald had told him earlier that morning that August was typically the hottest and dampest month of the year.

“You could join me you know,” Charles said from the water, tipping backward until he was floating, his arms stretching wide, ripples extending out from his bare skin reaching for Erik on the shore.

The sky was bright and clear, so clear Erik could see the stars reflected against the glassy surface of the lake, wavering slightly now that Charles had disturbed the water. Somewhere close beside him, hidden away from sight, a frog chirped continuously.

“Erik?” Charles said and Erik slowly lifted his gaze to stare at him instead.

They’d been together nearly every night for the past two months as Erik, despite having been nervous and uncertain after their kiss in May, realized that he didn’t have it in him to stay away from Charles. He wanted the comfort that came with having Charles near, wanted him to somehow dig out the seed of despairing anger that was quickly germinating inside him because Erik felt barely able to hold everything together on his own anymore. Not with the German army’s shadow towering and stretching across land and sea, the very last remaining Jewish enterprises now closed to the world by the Nazis. He combed through Kurt’s newspapers each day, noting how more and more his people were denied entrance into the countries that had once offered refuge and support.

Only Charles was never able to fully put out the flames licking at Erik’s insides. At best he soothed the fear and anger to more manageable levels but it never went away and Erik was certain that before everything was said and done his insides would be reduced to nothing more than charred ash. Charles claimed to understand Erik’s ceaseless worry but Erik knew he didn’t, not really. And how could he, kept isolated away from the world as he was? Charles repeated to him unendingly that he was safe and would remain so as long as he stayed right where he was. Privately Erik kept returning to the army recruitment fliers, turning them over and over again whenever he was alone, doing his best to shutter his thoughts from Charles whenever they were together.

He’d made himself stay in his room the night after they’d kissed, feeling twisted up over it, but staying away only made him feel worse and besides that it had been a fruitless venture anyway. He could feel Charles inside his head now at nearly every hour of the day, starting shortly after Charles kissed him, like Charles had purposefully dug into his mind and was refusing to let go, his presence shadowy but there nonetheless. The night he’d stayed away he hadn’t gotten any sleep, not with Charles pulling at him, trying to convince him to return to the forest, and so he’d given in. Only he’d been taking Ruth with him even on the nights when it was clear she didn’t want to go and he couldn’t pretend to himself anymore now why that was.

On this night however she had flat out refused him and before leaving the house Erik had stood at the end of the garden path and wondered over the potential danger the night could hold for him as he very well knew Charles had been itching to get him alone, irritated by Erik’s insistence on bringing his sister along night after night. But Erik couldn’t very well leave Charles by himself tonight of all nights, not after learning from Sharon that it was Charles’ birthday.

He’d just finished washing the large foyer windows and was preparing to wash the ones in the front room when he found Sharon drunk again and sobbing quietly to herself on the lounge sofa. He’d frozen in the doorway, wondering if he couldn’t back away into the hall but it was too late. Sharon had already caught sight of him and for the next hour he’d found himself trapped on the sofa while she cried to him about how it was Charles’ sixteenth birthday and then shocked him when she told him how she was a horrible mother.

He remembered how she’d turned Ruth’s eighth birthday and Cain’s fifteenth birthday into massive affairs the past June and wondered now if her guilt didn’t make her overcompensate. He’d not spoken a word about Sharon to Charles yet but Charles had been reading his thoughts anyway even if he offered nothing in reaction to the memory of Sharon’s distress but a brief and dark twisting of his features.

Erik didn’t have anything to give Charles except for the drawings he’s been making and just before leaving his room he’d chosen his best one to give up, regardless of how sheepish he felt over it. Charles had been thrilled by it, shocking Erik as he unabashedly threw his arms around Erik in thanks, pressing his newly transformed and naked body close. He hadn’t dressed at all after changing back from the swan once he’d discovered that Ruth wasn’t with Erik. Even though Erik had very specifically gone into the chapel to retrieve his clothes for him. Instead he exasperated Erik by taking several steps back into the water out of Erik’s reach, grinning slyly, not coming close again until Erik offered him the drawing and leftover turkey and cranberries from dinner.

“Erik, are you even listening to me?” Charles asked, having swum closer during Erik’s lapse into his own thoughts.

“I can’t swim,” Erik admitted finally, as if Charles didn’t know that already.

Charles beamed up at him. “I know.”

“Then why are you asking me to join you?” Erik snorted, splashing water at Charles with his foot.

“I could teach you,” Charles offered, dodging the spray. “I’m quite good in the water.”

Erik looked unsure and even more so when Charles grinned and waded into the shallows. He stood up quickly, the water lapping gently at his ankles as Charles drew up in front of him.

“Trust me,” Charles chuckled.

Erik didn’t smile in return, silently questioning Charles’ intent.

“Trust me,” Charles repeated, softer this time, staring up into Erik’s sober grey eyes as he reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly before letting go and hesitantly reaching for the buttons of Erik’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” Erik asked, sucking in a sharp brush as Charles undid the top button.

“You can’t learn to swim in your clothes,” Charles grinned again, keeping his eyes on his task.

Erik kept his eyes on Charles’ shoulder, desperately trying to ignore Charles’ hands removing his shirt and what he was sure was the intentional brush of fingers against Erik’s bare skin.

“Your trousers next,” Charles murmured, dragging Erik’s shirt down off his shoulders and tossing it ashore.

“I don’t think that’s…” Erik started to say but Charles shushed him, looking up at him through the sweep of his eyelashes, his gaze bright and sparkling.

“No one swims wearing their trousers you know. You’re being very odd.”

Erik swallowed, his face reddening as he continued staring at the freckles spanning Charles’ shoulders. He undid his trousers himself before Charles had the chance to try, lowering them and throwing them aside to join his shirt. Clad in nothing but his underwear he tried not to shiver as Charles reached for his hand again and slowly pulled him to where the water came up to his waist. He gripped Charles’ hand tightly, fearful that with each step he took the bottom would give out and he’d sink and drown.

“You won’t,” Charles said, hearing the thought. “I promise.”

Erik exhaled shakily and nodded, letting Charles lead him a few steps deeper until the water was chest high.

“Here,” Charles said. “We’ll stay here.”

“What do you want me to do?” Erik asked doubtfully.

Charles wrapped an arm around Erik, placing the palm of his hand on Erik’s back, urging him closer. “Lie back, let’s see if we can get you to float first.”

Erik didn’t budge and Charles’ eyes grew soft. “Let yourself go still and recline back. You don’t have to do anything except try and relax. You’re safe, I’ll support you.”

Charles’ hand slid up from the middle of Erik’s back to his shoulders, his other hand urging Erik back until Erik finally allowed himself to tip backwards, his legs drifting up in the water. Charles kept the palm of one hand flat between Erik’s shoulders, his other arm scooping around Erik’s legs until Erik was completely laid out across the surface of the water. He stared up at the wide expanse of stars and sky above them, marveling at how weightless he felt and how easily Charles kept him afloat, supporting Erik’s larger frame seemingly without effort. Erik tipped his head back farther, choosing one of the brightest stars to focus on rather than the feel of Charles’ hands on his bare skin.

“Very good.” Charles beamed down at him encouragingly. “Now I’ll just step back and see if you can do it on your own. It helps if you take a deep breath and hold it for a second.”

Erik did as he was instructed, taking a deep breath but he couldn’t help tensing as Charles’ hands left him and he immediately began to sink. Charles supported him quickly again and together they tried a couple more times until Erik could do it on his own, at least for a moment.

“That’s good,” Charles laughed, “really good, now let’s try and get you treading water.”

Erik found his feet again and looked at Charles nervously as he tried leading Erik in a little deeper.

“It’s all right,” Charles assured him. “It’s easy, you just kick your legs, like running in place.”

Once Charles was pleased with his progress they moved deeper still. Not enough that Erik couldn’t still touch the bottom but deep enough now that only their heads were visible above the water. After a while Charles had him to where he could do a few simple laps, crowing in delight as Erik managed it alone and without support. Erik beamed, showing off until his arms burned and he could no longer stay afloat. He sank, accidentally swallowing a mouthful of water and Charles’ hands were back on him again, helping him up and pulling him back to shallower water.

Erik straightened, panting slightly with the exertion, looking down into Charles’ eyes brimming over with fondness. He saw what was coming next long before Charles actually moved, the part of him still clinging to reason whispering faintly to turn away, to stop this before it destroyed them both because there was no conceivable way that they could ever be together outside this clearing. The thought got drowned out by Erik’s own heartbeat, his heated blood, the water beading on Charles’ moon pale skin, his freckles thrown across his body like constellations and his bright, luminescent eyes.

He bent his head willingly at the same time Charles pulled him down, slotting their lips together. His fingers gripping Charles’ damp shoulders as they kissed before moving to his soaking wet hair, down the back of his neck to trace over his spine. Charles’ arms snaked around Erik as he fitted himself close to Erik’s front, pressing their chests and bellies flush against each other.

The water caressed Erik’s hips, making him shiver, goosebumps pebbling his skin as Charles’ mouth parted for him, the taste of cranberries lingering on his tongue. Charles’ breath hitched against his lips as he rocked his hips into Erik’s, his eyes falling closed at the sensation and Erik couldn’t think. Charles was naked and obviously hard, his erection nudging Erik’s belly and somewhere in a foggy corner of Erik’s mind he still had enough sense to remember that this was wrong, they couldn’t do this. But then Charles rocked into him again, his entire body shuddering under Erik’s hands and the thin line tethering Erik to his resolution snapped. He clung to Charles desperately, the world dissolving until he was all Erik had left. Charles’ hands that couldn’t seem to settle in one place and Charles’ hesitant tongue in his mouth, the weak sounds he kept making against Erik’s lips.

Erik pulled his head away to look at him, ignoring Charles’ soft sound of protest. Charles looked destroyed, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth hanging open just slightly, his bottom lip redder than it had ever been, swollen and wet with saliva, his chest heaving. Erik kissed him again, all the sweet and tender hesitance of before replaced by rough intensity and desperation. They were both uncoordinated, their teeth clicking together awkwardly as they moved and Erik could hardly breathe, his hands moving from Charles’ hips to his sides back up into his hair. He could feel Charles’ mind unspooling, enveloping him and dragging him half out of himself until he felt like he was slipping further and further into a raging sea, senseless and destructive in its passion.

Erik felt dizzy, taking in the watery scent of Charles’ skin, listening to Charles groan as he tugged his hair. He was acutely aware of his own erection, straining heavy and hot between them, pressed flush against Charles’, the only thing separating them the thin, wet layer of Erik’s underwear. His eyes cracked open as Charles slid his fingers down Erik’s arm and took his hand, guiding it down his chest to his belly. Charles quivered, his hips jerking forward as he pressed Erik’s hand against his abdomen.

Finally able to unabashedly look his fill of Charles’ naked body, Erik’s fingers skimmed across Charles’ soft skin, his thumb rubbing Charles’ hipbone as he stared down at Charles’ erection. It was the first time he’d ever seen another boy like this and Charles was so different to him, with his foreskin still intact. Erik touched it experimentally, delicately brushing it with just the tips of his fingers, his eyes snapping back to Charles’ face as he whimpered and jerked at his touch.

“Please,” Charles breathed tremulously, pushing himself against Erik. “Please.”

Erik closed his fingers around Charles and was gifted with a strangled cry as Charles immediately tried thrusting into his grip. Erik forced him still, keeping his fingers wrapped around him as he had in his dreams, using his other hand to lift Charles’ chin back up so he could kiss him again.

Charles’ fingers were digging into Erik’s skin hard enough Erik was sure he’d come away with bruises as he moved Charles’ foreskin slowly back and forth along his shaft. And if there were bruises there would be no denying any of this to himself later, he thought hazily, pressing kisses along Charles’ jaw and to his throat as Charles tipped his head back. He could feel Charles’ pulse, fluttering hard and fast under his skin and Erik pressed a kiss there before continuing on to his collarbone and then to his shoulder.

Charles’ eyes flew open at the same time Erik’s teeth grazed his skin and then Erik was being shoved backwards. He floundered for a moment, sputtering and spitting as he regained his footing. Clearing his eyes he didn’t know whether he should apologize or demand an explanation but Charles was already on him again, still shaking from arousal but clumsily and frantically pushing Erik toward shore.

“You need to go now,” Charles hissed. “ _Now_  – hurry and… _get down_.”

“ _What_?” Erik spluttered, his confusion and the lingering heat of everything they’d just been doing making him feel off balance.

“Get down,” Charles ordered, pushing him forcefully into the reeds and lily pads, scattering frogs in every direction. “Be quiet and don’t move,” he whispered.

Erik watched him stumble to shore and scramble for Erik’s clothes and the drawing, shoving everything into the alcove of the two trees he’d hidden himself in the first time Erik had brought Ruth. He dashed back to the shore and was hurrying into his own clothes when Erik saw what the problem was.

Swooping down on silent wings into the clearing, starlight streaming over its dark feathers, was an owl, its large black eyes fixed on Charles. Erik’s heartbeat hammered loudly in his chest as he tried to get his breathing back under control, his stomach churning as the owl descended lower and lower. Its talons spread open as if ready to latch onto prey and its wings suddenly shifting back the moment it touched the ground. The change was nothing like Charles’ wretched and painful transformations. It was quick, flawless and smooth, Sebastian’s former wings melting into the fabric of his shirt, his sleeves dusted grey as if he’d recently brushed against cobwebs.

Erik fought to hold still, the awful feeling of insects crawling over him returning, nearly driving him mad with the urge to bolt. He could see Sebastian’s pale blue eyes scouring the clearing, seeming to hesitate and linger on the spot where Erik was hiding before finally resting on Charles, out of breath and awkwardly smoothing down his shirt front, standing before Sebastian like a child awaiting their parent’s approval.

“Charles,” Sebastian spoke silkily, “who were you talking to?”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone,” Charles said, meeting Sebastian’s piercing gaze unflinchingly.

“I heard you,” Sebastian said, looking over the clearing again, his eyes lingering a second time on Erik’s hiding place.

Erik shivered, his limbs overcome with the want to make a dash for the tree line.

_I’ve made it so he can’t see you._  Charles’ voice sounded tight and small inside his head.  _But he senses there’s someone else here and will try and draw you out. Don’t move._

“I was talking to myself,” Charles said aloud. “I often do when I’m alone.”

Sebastian looked back at Charles, clucking his tongue sympathetically. “Yes, my poor thing, left here all by yourself and on your birthday no less. I feel awful about the whole thing, truly I do, so I did my best to return to you early only – you weren’t at home.”

This time when Sebastian’s eyes passed over Erik and immediately moved back to him again Erik was sure he’d been found.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said suddenly, stepping in front of him, drawing Sebastian’s gaze back onto himself. “That was inconsiderate of me. I only thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days and it was hot and I thought I would swim.”

“Can’t get enough of the water.” Sebastian’s teeth bared in a smile before slowly adding, “You seem rather… _overexerted_.”

“I’ve been at it for a while,” Charles said quietly, looking uncomfortably down at his feet.

Sebastian eyed him appraisingly for a moment before striding past him closer to the lakeshore. “I imagine you have,” he murmured softly. “With you being so lonely and not having anything else to do.”

“Yes,” Charles nodded, falling into step beside him, insinuating himself again between Sebastian and Erik.

Sebastian stopped just in front of the shore two feet from where Erik was crouched. His eyes crept along the surface of the water and stilled on Erik’s face. Erik’s breath catching in his throat as Sebastian spoke again, this time seeming to stare straight into his eyes.

“You wouldn’t hide anything from me,” Sebastian said gently.

“No,” Charles agreed at his side and Sebastian finally turned.

“Not me,” Sebastian said, fingering a lock of Charles’ wet hair, “not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Charles nodded and Sebastian lowered his hand.

“Good,” he whispered. He considered Charles for a lingering moment before seeming to come to a decision. “Let us leave this dreary place, hmm? Honestly, Charles I can’t understand why you insist on spending so much time here.”

Erik watched as Sebastian gripped Charles’ shoulder and herded him away, circling around the lake. He listened as long as he could until Sebastian’s voice drifted away on the other side of the clearing. He stayed still and waited far longer than was probably necessary before quietly getting out of the water. He shivered once on land, his skin pruned from being submerged for so long in the lake. He dug out his clothes and dressed, feeling jittery and strange from swinging rapidly between arousal and fear. He looked down at the drawing as soon as he was finished dressing, tucking it back into the alcove and looking back at the direction Charles and Sebastian had gone. Everything was silent and up above thin wisps of cloud slowly concealed the stars that had shone so brightly earlier from sight. He turned away and stole back through the forest as quickly and quietly as he could.

*

Charles could feel Sebastian studying him as he leant rigidly over his book and pretended to read. His back was turned to Sebastian, who was sitting contemplatively in the single chair with his feet propped up on the ottoman, his thoughts sharp and cold each time Charles dared to brush against them. Charles closed his eyes and sought out Erik’s mind instead, a blush dusting over his cheeks as he did so. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the surge of emotion and heavy feeling of arousal that spiked through him, his body feeling uncomfortably tense in places from being stimulated without relief. He shifted slightly, wishing Sebastian would go to bed and leave him be for the night.

“I’ve been wrong to leave you alone so often,” Sebastian said suddenly, startling him.

Charles’ eyes opened as he sat up on his bed but he didn’t turn. He let go of Erik’s mind and stared down at the words blurring on the open page of his book. “What do you mean?” he asked, working hard to keep his voice steady.

“I think it would be best if I were around more, if together you and I worked out something a little more…stable.”

“I don’t understand,” Charles said, closing his book and finally turning to face Sebastian. “You don’t like staying here, I can tell that much.”

Sebastian’s eyes glittered in the low light. “Yes, my talented boy, but I have no intention of remaining here in this sad little cottage.”

Charles shook his head in confusion.

“Wouldn’t you like to live back up in the house?” Sebastian asked gently. “Have your old room back, all your possessions?”

Charles moved to the edge of the bed, his eyes eager. “You’ll let me go?”

Sebastian barked a laugh. “Heavens no, don’t be foolish.”

Charles visibly wilted.

“Now don’t look like that,” Sebastian chastised. “You’re mine, you know that. But what if you and I lived in the house together?”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “What about Kurt?”

“Let me worry about Kurt,” Sebastian snapped, his face darkening. He smoothed his features back out quickly as Charles flinched back, his voice silky once more. “You don’t have to worry about Kurt, Charles. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Charles didn’t know what to make of that and Sebastian had fallen back into silence, his eyes growing distant and contemplative once more and so Charles turned away. Too tired to bother pretending, he set his book aside and rose to his feet to get ready for bed. He’d dressed in his sleep clothes and was pulling back the covers of his bed when Sebastian spoke again, the flickering candlelight nearly spent and casting strange shadows over his face.

“He’s been here hasn’t he?” he asked, studying Charles closely to gauge his reaction. “That boy Sharon’s got living up in the house.”

Charles tensed despite himself and Sebastian laughed. “I knew it.”

“Aren’t you angry?” Charles asked hesitantly, still staring down at his blankets.

“It depends,” Sebastian mused. “What’s his power?”

“What?” Charles choked.

“Oh, don’t play with me…Kurt was insistent there’s something funny with the boy…what’s his name?”

“Erik,” Charles whispered.

“Erik,” Sebastian smiled. “That’s it. Erik isn’t very likely to just accept you in your…condition, now is he? Not unless there’s something strange about him as well. So tell me – _what_  is his power?”

Charles hesitated.

“ _Charles_ ,” Sebastian said warningly.

“He can manipulate metal…and electromagnetic fields as far as I know,” Charles answered, his voice small. The words felt like a betrayal.

“Really,” Sebastian said, sounding impressed. “That’s…that’s interesting.”

Charles had turned back around and was gaping at Sebastian. “You’ve known all along that there were others like us, haven’t you?”

“Please, Charles,” Sebastian scoffed. “I’m not a fool. Of course I’ve known.”

“But you never told  _me_  that,” Charles said accusingly.

Sebastian was looking at him in mock sympathy again. “It’s always been unnecessary for you to know.”

Charles scowled at him and continued throwing back the covers.

Sebastian smiled at him as if he found Charles’ anger entertaining. He sobered again however after a moment, watching Charles bury himself in his pillow.

“You won’t tell Kurt?” Charles said eventually, facing away from Sebastian.

“Of course not, silly boy,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “Of course not. You and I…and now that boy, are superior to Kurt and very soon he’s going to realize that.”

Charles frowned at the wall, feeling Sebastian’s eyes boring into him.

“Oh, and Charles…” Sebastian said almost as an afterthought though Charles knew it was anything but. “Don’t ever lie to me again.”

Charles gripped his pillow tighter and nodded.

*

Erik shifted restlessly on his bed, unable to find sleep, feeling as though he was wrapped up in fog. He let out a frustrated whine, the ghost of Charles’ kiss still lingering on his lips. His skin had been soft and warm beneath Erik’s hands, his body bending and pliant. Erik squeezed his eyes shut tightly and in his mind saw Charles staring up him, his eyes wide and trusting as Erik touched him where no one ever had before. The image undid him, his hands fumbling under the sheets to shove his sleep pants down to his knees.

He was already hard, his cock straining up toward his belly. He forced himself to just breathe evenly for a moment, listening intently to the still house around him, praying that Ruth wouldn’t come to him that night or that Cain wasn’t listening outside his door. Once he felt bold enough he curled his fingers around himself, unable to stop the desperate thrust of his hips or the small, sharp sound from making its way past his throat. He’d denied himself this too often since coming to stay with the Markos, weeks’ worth of pent up tension now coiled tight in his groin.

He tried to remain as quiet as he could, his hips rocking against the bed as he thrust up into his hand, dragging his thumb over the swollen head, precome beading at the tip. His eyes slid shut as the tension built, small shudders wracking his frame, his exhalations shaky. He thought of the helpless sounds Charles had made when Erik had touched him just like this and that was enough to send him over the edge. His body curled in on itself, his free hand clutching at the sheets, a guttural groan escaping him as his cock emptied itself, thick spurts of come striping hot across his belly and chest.

The guilt rushed in the moment it was over, his stomach and chest heaving as he drug a hand over his face, certain that if Sebastian hadn’t interrupted them, they would never have stopped. His eyes found swirling patterns in the dark of the ceiling as he tried distracting himself from his own thoughts. Not knowing what to think of himself now.

*

Charles shivered under his covers, his hands gripping the edges of his quilt, his eyes closed in concentration. He’d picked up the silvery strands of Erik’s thoughts after Sebastian had gone up into the loft to bed and found Erik completely undone with arousal.

Charles knew he should give Erik his privacy but couldn’t bring himself to back out of Erik’s mind. He wanted what was in Erik’s thoughts, the things Erik wanted to do to him, the ways Erik wanted to touch him. Charles had never been touched before and had spent the last couple of years fearing he might not ever be.

Erik’s arousal was rising to a peak and Charles whimpered before he could stop himself, his hips shifting restlessly, his muscles drawing up tight.

“Charles, what’s the matter with you?” Sebastian bit out irritably from above him.

“Nothing,” Charles said into the dark, his voice shaky. “I just don’t feel well is all.”

“Well, be quiet then,” Sebastian growled, his covers rustling as he turned over.

Erik’s mind had burst into vibrant color and Charles shuddered, collecting the lingering fragments of Erik’s pleasure for himself, wishing that Sebastian had not returned and that they could share in it together. It was a long time before he was finally able to sleep.

*

_1939, September 1_

All morning long Erik paced back and forth at the back door waiting for the paperboy to drop off the paper as he had been doing now for weeks. His hands snatching it without a word the moment it arrived, his eyes rapidly scouring the front page. Reading in bold print:  _GERMAN ARMY ATTACKS POLAND; CITIES BOMBED, PORT BLOCKADED; DANZIG IS ACCEPTED INTO REICH._

His eyes moved quickly over the page, blearily picking out  _Hitler Tells the Reichstag ‘Bomb Will Be Met By Bomb’_ and  _Free City Is Seized_  and  _Hitler Acts Against Poland_.

The room swam before his eyes as he grabbed for the latch of the door, letting himself out into the hazy early morning light, the sun just shedding its first rays over the lawn, the heat not yet clinging. The paper slipped from his fingers as he retched into one of the rose beds. He squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach clenching painfully as it emptied itself of its contents. He opened his eyes and stared at his own dripping bile marring the perfectly kempt roses.

Behind him in the kitchens, on the other side of the screen door he heard movement and noise coming toward him, a sound of concern from who he didn’t know or care and before anyone had a chance to ask him what was wrong he started forward, walking briskly down the garden path and down the drive, not stopping. Once turning the corner he started to run until he was long out of breath and his lungs felt close to bursting.

He abandoned his usual path, straying from the lane that would take him to the sea and instead moving further and further into the countryside until he had lost sight of civilization. He ended up stumbling across a moor. The sunlight growing distant as the clouds rolled in heavy and thick. He dropped to his knees and then fell to his back, completely surrounded by purple heather and stared straight into the grey sky threatening to rain above him.

He was aware of iron mineralization tucked away beneath the soil below him and was struck by the urge to tear it from the earth. His fingers twitched at his sides, his eyes blinking closed as the sky opened up and it began to rain.

*

Erik trudged back to the house just before dark, carelessly tracking mud through the house as he went. The kitchen staff stared after him but no one dared to speak and he managed to make it back up to his room without being bothered or stopped. He stumbled into his bathroom, knowing he should remove his wet clothes, clean up, do something, anything other than stare blankly at his own reflection.

Not for the first time he cursed himself for ever leaving his mother’s side. His eyes blinked but he didn’t register the movement, feeling as though he were staring at someone he didn’t know or recognize anymore. If anything had happened to her it would be all his fault. He hadn’t been there. He’d been here in Kurt’s ridiculous house and mooning around in the forest with a boy who Erik now realized would be his downfall. But no more. He had to do something. He thought of the night before with Charles and grew disgusted with himself. The urge to retch once more coming over him.

Is this what he had left his mother for? His home? To allow some cursed boy to defile him. He felt himself shaking but it still didn’t register as his own body, as his muscles. The iron frame of the mirror rippled and warped in time with his shallow breathing, the faucet of the sink and tub undulating like snakes. He swallowed thickly, closed his eyes and tried to stop and couldn’t. He was weak. A slave to his own impulses and on that thought he opened his eyes, found his own hated eyes staring back at him and latched hold of the mirror, wrenched it from the wall and smashed it over the porcelain sink.

His breathing shuddered as he looked down at the shards of glass littering the sink, his reflection now fragmented and distorted. His eyes shifted and his breath stuck in the back of his throat as he found Ruth staring at him twelve different angles. He turned slowly, meeting her wide and frightened eyes. Behind him the metal still rippled warningly.

“Get out,” he said.

“Erik…”

“GET OUT!” he roared, watching with sick satisfaction as she fled from him, throwing the door closed behind herself and blocking him from view.

*

He promised himself he would stay away from Charles. It wasn’t hard now that Sebastian once more occupied the forest. Even during the day when Erik would normally go to the beach and sit with Charles or feed him he stayed away. Ignoring the secondhand feeling of Charles’ sadness late at night when he couldn’t sleep.

He did his best to build a wall between them, using his anger as fortification. he returned to the moorlands instead, tracing out iron deposits in the soil, sinking his power deep in the earth where he risked no one seeing him and spent his day thinking and mulling over the day’s headlines and radio broadcasts.

He was left almost entirely to himself now. Even by Cain. Even by Ruth. A part of himself not yet mired down by rage knew his sister probably needed him to make sense of everything, knew that she would worry as much as him but he couldn’t bring himself to try or even to care.

Summer was nearing its end and as he walked he caught a chill moving down out of the west, sinking its grip into his bones and staying there. When he returned back to the house he steeled himself for something he’d never done before and sought out Kurt.

Kurt frowned hard at him over the gleaming surface of his desk, his bulky frame sunk deep into his dark leather chair. “What do you want?”

Erik stood straight and tall before him. “I need to go to London,” he said.

One of Kurt’s eyebrows rose. “For what?” he scoffed.

Erik braced himself. “I want to enlist.”

Kurt leaned forward in his chair, appraising Erik carefully.

“It would mean I’d no longer be living in your house,” Erik said flatly.

Kurt nodded slowly and for perhaps the first time since Erik had arrived, actually smiled.

*

It was dark, the shadows of the trees surrounding the music room reaching across the floor and covering Erik’s hands where they rested unmoving against the pale ivory keys. Through the branches and foliage, lightning flickered every so often as a storm moved closer and closer in off the coast, low rumbles of thunder rattling the windowpanes.

Erik felt restless, the electromagnetic energy of the lightning tiptoeing down his spine and zipping along through his blood. He couldn’t focus enough to decide on what to play, a sadness settling over him as he knew it would likely be the last time he ever did. His fingers tripping out half tunes and single notes that immediately died away into silence before he felt something more insistent and stronger than the approaching lightning, making him look up through the wide windows to the forest on the other side. His eyes followed the movement of leaves rustling in the increasing wind and finally locked on a pale shape moving through the trees.

Charles looked more spirit than human, his eyes piercing easily through Erik despite the fact that Erik hadn’t turned on the music room lights. Erik felt the tentative and gentle feelers of Charles’ thoughts stretching out to wrap around Erik’s own, uncertain of his welcome.

Erik wanted to dam his emotions back up and lock away his thoughts, but staring at Charles this close but not being unable to touch him made him feel lonelier than he ever had, and he couldn’t help the wave of emotion that bled through the fissures of his mental walls.

He watched Charles climb onto a low branch and settle back against the tree’s mossy trunk, waiting to see or to feel what Erik would do next. After a moment’s hesitation Erik finally found the right piece to play, choosing Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude, believing it somehow suited to Charles and to him.

He could feel Charles paying attention to the fall of his fingers against the keys, feeling what Erik felt, the two of them communicating silently through emotion. When the piece ended Erik slowly got up from the piano bench and moved to the window right across from Charles. The lightning flaring through the trees again and again, lighting Charles up each time. He drug the bench close until it sat right alongside the glass and sank down onto it. Leaning his head against the windowpane, he stared out at Charles, cradled by trees, watching him until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and fell asleep, soothed by the delicate brush of Charles’ mind.

*

He almost left without saying goodbye. It would be better that way, he told himself, easier, cleaner. But he’d never done anything simply because it was easy and he knew Charles deserved at least this much. He deserved the world even if Erik couldn’t be the one to give it to him. He paused at the tree line in the woodland garden, knowing it was the last time, feeling the warning sensation of Sebastian’s powers but pressing on regardless. Pushing onward through the damp darkness of the trees as he steeled his resolve.

Charles met him at the edge of the clearing, his skin sallow and his eyes dulled. He looked at Erik as if he were waiting for a death blow.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Charles tried before Erik had the chance to speak. It was a feeble gesture. “Sebastian is –”

“I don’t care,” Erik cut him off swiftly, stepping past him, looking out over the clearing to the lake and the chapel and its poor graveyard one last time. “I came to say goodbye.”

Charles shook his head but Erik kept on talking.

“I’ve joined the British Expeditionary Force. I leave for training tomorrow.”

“Erik, please,” Charles said, coming close even as Erik took an obvious step back. “You’re not thinking clearly.” Charles looked at him gently, kept his voice soothing. “There’s something in you, my friend,” he said carefully, “I’ve felt it. It’s dark, and if you let it, it will consume you.” He tried coming close again, entreating softly. “Please just let me help you. I can help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Erik bit out furiously, his eyes narrowing sharply. “Look at you, you can’t even help yourself.”

“ _Erik_.” Charles’ voice shrank away, his eyes hurt and Erik knew he’d found the right words to cut him. But Charles recovered fast and tried to come close again.

Erik turned away from him, putting a few steps between them, the words he’d planned earlier inside his head failing him. When he spun around to face Charles again his face had gone grey. “I can’t do this with you,” he said, shaking his head and he could see Charles mouth the word,  _‘What,’_ but no sound came out.

“ _This_ ,” Erik gestured frantically between them. “You...me... _this_  doesn’t exist.”

Charles swallowed thickly, his hands shaking as he pushed his hair, still wet from the lake, away from his face. He exhaled slowly and moved into Erik’s space.  _He knows_ , Erik realized with panic, knew that if he came close and touched Erik enough that Erik would bend beneath his hand. Because he tried again and again, putting his hand on Erik’s forearm, his fingers cool and soft where they brushed Erik’s skin.

Erik shook off his touch, backing away quickly again, staring at Charles accusingly, unable to stop himself from wondering if all this time he’d been nothing more than a puppet for Charles to exact his fantasies on, forcing Erik to his will because Erik refused to believe that this was his future.

Charles looked at him horrified, reading the thought. He stayed where he was, his voice unsteady when he spoke. “If you leave now, we won’t see each other again.”

Erik stared back at him blankly, seeing the exact moment when Charles figured out that Erik knew this and had already accepted it.

Charles’ eyes widened, looking at Erik like he’d just been slapped. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he froze, staring at something past Erik’s shoulder.

The hair on the back of Erik’s neck rose as he turned to see, already knowing that he would find Sebastian but the sight of him leaning back against one of the gravestones, staring at Erik with unrestrained amusement still had enough power to make him jump. He stumbled back, flinching as Charles’ hands gripped his arms from behind and held him still.

“Well, well,” Sebastian mused, straightening himself up and striding closer. “I have to admit I didn’t expect you to be quite so bold.”

“I came to say goodbye,” Erik said, forcing his voice steady.

Sebastian faltered, his eyes moving from Erik to Charles back to Erik again before narrowing shrewdly. “Goodbye?”

“I leave for basic training in the morning,” Erik said calmly. At Charles’ sound of protest behind him he turned slightly. “You have to have known, Charles,” Erik said, “you’ve been in my head all this time, you must have known this was coming. You must have known that…what we’ve been doing is wrong.”

“Pray tell,” Sebastian said, “what  _have_  you been doing?”

“You can’t,” Charles said quietly, ignoring Sebastian. “You can’t leave.”

“Honestly, Charles,” Sebastian said but Charles pressed on.

“Erik, please, you’re my best friend,” Charles said, his voice shriveling up on his next words. “I love you.”

Erik stared at Charles horrorstruck, even Sebastian had turned quiet and still.

Erik shook his head slowly, his anger spiking again. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Erik…” Charles sounded on the verge of tears.

“I don’t want you, Charles,” Erik hissed, searching desperately for the words to make Charles stop. He found them, breaking his own heart as he threw them out between them. “I wish I’d never met you.”

He watched Charles let the ugliness of his words sink in, his eyes brimming over, silent tears tracking down his face. He looked to Erik like he might be sick at any moment.

“You can’t mean that,” Charles whispered. “You don’t.”

“Charles, please,” Sebastian spoke again suddenly, coming around to grip one of Charles’ shoulders. His fingers looking for all the world like a claw. “The boy’s trying to leave which _I_  think would be best, the least you can do is try and maintain what’s left of your dignity and not make a scene.”

“I don’t believe you,” Charles uttered softly, his eyes pleading with Erik to take back everything he’d said.

“That’s the problem with you, Charles,” Erik said coldly, “you never listen.” He ignored Charles’ shuddery intake of breath and turned to leave. He didn’t look back and this time Charles didn’t try to stop him.  

*

In the morning before the sun rose he was sitting on the lounge sofa, waiting for Sharon, his single, tattered suitcase packed and ready to go by his feet. At the sound of her heels clicking on the wood floor he sat up straighter.

“Erik,” she gasped, clutching at her chest at the sight of him. “I didn’t see you there, sweetheart. You startled me.”

“I know about Charles,” Erik said, cutting straight to the point.

Sharon froze, her eyes widening. “What did you say?”

“Charles,” Erik growled, “and Sebastian.”

She gaped openmouthed, at a loss for words. “Charles is...he’s…”

“Living in the woods,” Erik finished bluntly.

“You don’t understand,” Sharon whispered, her eyes suddenly seeming to look straight through him. “He’s ill and Sebastian…” She trailed off on a frightened shriek as Erik used his power to pull the gold bangle from her wrist and levitate it across the room to his waiting hand.

“He isn’t ill,” Erik said meaningfully, letting her bracelet drift up again, watching as it pulled apart in midair before coming back together again, reshaping once more. “You are.”

The bracelet floated back across the room and Sharon hesitantly took it from the air. She was staring down at it when she spoke. “What you have to realize is that he needs –”

“He needed his mother,” Erik cut her off again. “And instead you fed him to the wolves. He never deserved that. He deserves to be happy and safe, not forced into being an animal all day long.”

Sharon swallowed before looking him in the eye again, her voice strangely lucid. “How long have you been like this and how long have you known?”

“I’ve been this way since I was little and I’ve known about Charles almost from the beginning.”

“Is Ruth…?” Sharon whispered questioningly.

“Like me?” Erik finished. “No. She’s perfectly normal,” he said with a bitter smile, rising to his feet. He picked up his suitcase and took a step forward, his eyes flashing darkly when he spoke again. “I think you love Charles, deep down, but wishing for a cure is doing him more harm than good. And I can tell you that there is no cure because there’s nothing wrong with him. Make Sebastian let him go. Or you’ll lose him forever.”

Sharon’s face crumpled as Erik stepped past her, leaving her alone in the center of the front room as he went back out through the hall.

Standing out on the drive, waiting for the car Kurt had sent for him, he was left with only Mrs. Elsner and Ruth. He glanced up at Cain’s window, sensing eyes on him and saw Cain peering down at him. Cain moved away, vanishing from sight as soon as he saw Erik looking. Erik shook his head and met Ruth’s eyes.

“You promised,” Ruth said tearfully. “You promised you wouldn’t leave.”

“I know,” Erik said gently. “But I need you to understand, I have to do this.”

Ruth gripped his sleeve and Erik lowered himself to his knees, hugging her tightly.

“Will you come back?” she asked.

He looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Elsner, seeing the grief in her eyes. They both knew it was doubtful he would survive this. “I’ll see you again,” he answered instead.

Mrs. Elsner closed her eyes at his words and Erik stood up, Ruth still clinging to his hand. There would be no dissuading him from this, he knew Mrs. Elsner realized that. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she hugged him, whispering to him to be safe before she let him go.

Behind him he heard the car rolling up the drive and lowered himself once more to Ruth, leaning forward. “Don’t forget about Charles, okay? He’ll be lonely. And hungry.”

Ruth sniffed and nodded and he hugged her one more time and then turned to meet the car. Climbing inside, he watched from the rear windshield as the Markos' manor house, his sister and the forest shrank smaller and smaller until the car turned the corner and it was all hidden away from his sight.

He spent the next four weeks training in the countryside, on moorlands, and across the coast before being deployed by ship to France. On the day the ship was leaving the harbor Erik felt Charles before he saw him, trying desperately one last time to draw Erik back. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of seawater before looking up. The sunlight brushing across Charles’ feathers painting him a pale gold, his huge wings beating bright and silvery against the air.

Erik’s eyes stung at the sight, his heartbeat painful inside his chest as Charles fluted mournfully to him, his eyes tracking a single feather as it drifted down from above. He leaned over the railing as it drifted closer and closer to the water and before he had time to think, he’d jumped over the side, splashing into the sea.

There were raised shouts above him that Erik didn’t answer until he’d grabbed hold of Charles’ feather. He blinked water out of his eyes as a rope splashed down in front of his face and he wrapped it around his wrist, letting himself be hauled back onto the ship.

Dripping on the deck, he pushed past several gawkers, faintly hearing Alex, a boy who was roughly the same age as Erik muttering about Erik being a bit mental but nothing to worry over. He cradled the feather in his hands tenderly, looking back up at Charles still suspended in the air above him as the ship moved away from land.

His connection with Charles was steadily unraveling, the pain of it sharp and stinging. Erik shut his eyes again, feeling his and Charles’ grief and despair mingling together until it was one and the same. He could feel Charles’ presence with him even after he watched the swan wheel back in a race to beat the dying sunlight. Far out in the water Erik felt him, long after he’d lost sight of England and the sky had turned dark until the distance between them had grown too great and finally Erik felt the bond sever.

*

Charles was sitting still on the very bottom step of the chapel, soaked through from the rain and staring blankly out at the lake. He stayed completely still, as if he were carved from stone, ignoring Sebastian as he moved himself straight into Charles’ line of sight.

“You’ll make yourself sick you know,” Sebastian said, “and what good will that get you?”

“Leave me alone.” Charles’ words were barely audible and he watched as one of Sebastian’s hands clenched into a fist.

“Charles,” Sebastian spoke firmly, his hand relaxing again, “ _get up_.”

Charles looked up at him slowly, his eyes dulled with grief.

“You want to sit out here in the rain as dramatic as a bloody schoolgirl,” Sebastian snarled, “fine. But I’m going back to the cottage and when you finally decide you’ve had enough of this…if you’ve made yourself sick, see if I care.”

Charles listened to the sound of Sebastian shifting back into an owl, watching him leave from the corner of his eye. Only when he was sure he was alone did he let himself cry, hugging himself tightly, not moving from the steps until the warmth had long bled out of his skin.

He eventually shuffled home a few hours before dawn, feeling sluggish and slow. He pushed past the cottage door quietly and made for the fireplace. Dripping water on the floor as he removed a match from its box.

He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he tried failingly again and again to strike the match. He sniffed hard once it lit, holding it carefully as he gently tucked it amongst the kindling twigs. Another shiver wracked him and he closed his eyes for a moment, barely smelling the smoke through his clogged nose before he leaned over and softly blew on the tiny flame, fanning it into life.

He crawled up onto his bed as soon as it began to take off, stripping off his wet shirt and trousers and pulling on his warm, dry sleep clothes. He wrapped his quilt around himself and slid back onto the floor, getting as close to the fire as he could. In the loft above he could feel Sebastian watching him but refused to look up or speak a word to him. Warmth slowly seeped back into his flesh and Charles sighed quietly in relief, his eyes closing again.

“Charles,” Sebastian’s voice sliced through his tenuous peace, forcing Charles to look up. “Put the fire out,” Sebastian said, his voice even and unmoved. “I did not ask you to light it.”

Charles shuddered and looked back at his small fire, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them fall. He reached up with a trembling hand and closed the draft on the fireplace, watching his slight and hopeful fire die away back into nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Frédéric Chopin's "Raindrop" Prelude, Op 28, No. 15](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OFHXmiZP38)
> 
>  
> 
> Headlines are from The New York Times, September 1, 1939


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [widgenstain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/pseuds/widgenstain) ([tumblr here](http://widgenstain.tumblr.com/)) for providing the German translations and the Yiddish lullaby, Yankele, as well as the Yiddish text. <3
> 
> Also, thank you so much to [lynnfinne](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/) for creating [this](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/post/120341545420/an-illustration-done-for-the-swan-by-waitfornight) gorgeous, gorgeous piece of art. And to [chazstity](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/) for her amazingly beautiful artwork [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/117880342701/the-swan-is-probably-the-most-beautiful-fic-ive), [here](http://chaezthetic.tumblr.com/post/117823505148/i-literally-cant-put-more-than-2-energy-into), and [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/118338117986/honestly-if-i-had-the-time-id-draw-the-whole-of)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: character death and violence

Erik had become a number again, not a name, just as when he and Ruth had fled Poland. It felt like a lifetime ago to him now.

During the first weeks of training he’d met with so many different men,  _men_ , he had to keep reminding himself that they were men now. They couldn’t be undisciplined boys any longer, his sergeant drilling in to him along with the others of his unit that loyalty was absolutely essential. If they could stick together, they could withstand the worst.

Except everyone was a stranger to him, men he didn’t know how to speak to or relate to from every walk of life and all of different ages. The first night within the barracks; lonely, tired, angry, and heartbroken, he’d quietly cried himself to sleep, irritably wiping his unwelcome tears with his shirtsleeve. He remained terrified for the next few nights, not knowing what was going to happen next.

He accepted the labor of training without complaint however, keeping his eyes down, the miasma of anger swirling around inside him just beneath his skin his steadfast companion now. His power he had to keep tightly leashed as the new, unfamiliar surroundings and people made him anxious and the want to tear in to all the iron, gunmetal, and tin became more difficult to manage, stretching his control to its limit as his power uncoiled from him like an invisible limb, extending out and touching at all the different metals around him in an attempt to ease his mind.

In his second week he’d found a friend in Alex Summers, who didn’t take his brooding nature and skulking silence personally. Kicking the bottom of Erik’s boot good-naturedly when they’d first met, finding Erik at the close of a long day, staring numbly into space.

“Still alive there?” Alex had asked with a slight grin.

Given the option between enlistment or jail, Alex had chosen the former. He was mostly quiet and like Erik, kept his head down and completed his tasks without complaint. He also turned out to be severely loyal and Erik found himself warming to him until he’d become Erik’s only true friend within the barracks, at least until Sean Cassidy blew in off the coasts of Ireland.

Bright eyed and endlessly grinning, Sean was young and had come to them later than most of the others and remained unperturbed that he was harassed more cruelly than either Erik or Alex by the recruits who had been there longer on the account of his mother country remaining neutral and not coming to the aid of the allies.

Sean was able to look after himself, handling any skirmishes with his fists and a biting grin, his easiness and rough gentleness returning the moment the quarrel was over.

“So,” Sean had grinned on his first night in the barracks during evening mess hall, chucking a piece of bread at Erik, “what’s your story?”

Erik shrugged in response.

“No, come on now,” Sean insisted, “you’ve got to have a story.”

“I’m from Poland,” Erik said shortly. “I got chosen for the refugee program to be placed with a foster family in England. I stayed with them for about a year and now I’m here,” he finished, lowering his eyes, spooning up another mouthful of broth.

“Whatever possessed you to join in with this lot?” Sean asked.

“What possessed you?” Erik snapped, looking back up again.

Sean smiled. “Adventure. I want out of Ireland,” he said before turning to Alex. “Now you.”

Alex shrugged the same way Erik had done without looking up from his dinner. “It was either this or jail.”

“All right,” Sean laughed, grinning at the pair of them. “ _All right_.”

Training along the coast day in and day out, Erik found himself immensely grateful that Charles had taught him how to swim. Chest high in the freezing cold water one day during a training exercise Erik had looked up to see Sean on the prow of a ship, calling down to Erik in the water, asking if he was enjoying himself. At Erik’s scowl he’d beamed cheerfully, turning his face into the wind, his red curly hair flying, his bright eyes laughing.

Erik envied him; no amount of cruelty in the barracks, or punishing amount of labor, or harsh weather darkened Sean’s spirit. After a grueling day he still laughed easy over dinner, slept more soundly than anyone Erik had ever seen, and still grinned merrily in the dark morning.

Erik was stripped of his clothing and the meager belongings within his suitcase shortly after his arrival, everything he owned tagged and sent back to the Markos where he imagined it would all wind up in the trash. After the few identifying possessions he had on were removed, he was issued new clothes and shoes, along with a canvas sea-bag that was to hold his new articles of clothing and a steel bucket holding toilet articles, and lastly, a sewing kit.

His sketchbook and pencils though he managed to hide, along with Charles’ feather tucked between its pages within his barrack with Alex’s help. Cunning and clever, Alex managed to keep in private not only his own prized possession but Erik’s as well.

As part of their accelerated training their drill instructor forced them to either walk or run everywhere they went, sending them off on 10-mile hikes before breakfast before upping it to 20-miles. They were given raw food that they needed to figure out how to cook on their own and once a week they were split up and sent into the woods to hunt down their food or else spend the night hungry.

Late one night Sean had come in exhausted but still in high spirits, singing a raunchy limerick about a girl named Moira while sprawled out on his cot before he’d closed his eyes in the middle of the third verse and after a moment started snoring.

Erik chuckled and got up from his cot, stumbling outside into the dark to relieve himself before bed and when he returned found Alex leafing through his drawings, staring down at a portrait of Charles that Erik had spent hours painstakingly detailing, before looking up at Erik with a strange expression and a raised eyebrow.

Erik had frozen, considering what to say when Alex closed his sketchbook and handed it to him without a word, turning away from Erik as he crawled beneath his blanket for the night.

Erik did the same, readying himself for bed quickly and laying himself down onto his cot. He was worn out and nearly asleep, lulled by the deep breathing of the others around him when Alex spoke in the dark, his voice barely audible.

“Who is he?”

“Who?” Erik asked softly.

“The boy in your drawings.”

Erik paused a long moment before answering. “A friend.”

Another long pause. “Just a friend?” Alex asked.

Erik’s heart pounded fearfully over what Alex was implying and he considered not answering, to brush off his questions, listening intently for any wakefulness from the others. There was none, it remained quiet and Alex didn’t press him but Erik was so lonely and missed Charles with every bone in his body and so he answered, his words a faint whisper that could have easily been mistook for the sigh of the wind outside.

“ _No_.”

Alex exhaled slowly in answer and didn’t speak again and after waiting for a moment, too tired to stay awake, Erik fell into an exhausted sleep.

The next day was a ‘hunt for your dinner’ day and Erik and Alex set off into the woods and had just finished up with starting a small campfire when they heard a terrible scream from deeper in like the wailing shriek of a banshee. Peering into the dark evergreens, Alex elbowed Erik and nodded towards the sound of footsteps coming towards them, crunching along through the pine needles, Erik picking up his weapon that he had barely just learned how to use only to lower it again when Sean appeared through the trees, carrying two dead rabbits.

“What the hell was that?” Erik asked sharply.

Sean looked at him blankly, glancing down to his rabbits as he came closer to the fire.

“Did you hear it?” Alex asked. “What was it?”

Sean stared at them as if they had both lost their minds. “Hear what?”

“You  _didn’t_  hear that?” Alex said in disbelief.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Sean said, flinging the rabbits into Alex’s arms.

Alex glared at Sean as he lowered himself to the ground in front of the fire and began examining the rabbits, finding their necks unbroken and their bodies without wounds.

“How did you kill these?” he asked.

“Think I scared ‘em to death,” Sean answered casually.

Both Erik and Alex stared at him.

“How?” Alex asked with narrowed eyes.

Sean shrugged carelessly. “I’m gonna get started on that tent now.”

Erik and Alex watched him go, glancing at each other in confusion before Erik shook his head and turned back to tending his fire.

Under the failing light, as Erik finished roasting Sean’s rabbits and Sean was off picking up fallen branches to keep the fire going, Alex came up beside him, handing him a bent up and water-stained photograph.

Erik looked down at the handsome face of a young black man, his eyes clear and bright and seeming to gaze out at them through shades of sepia.

“His name’s Armando,” Alex said at Erik’s questioning look, “he’s a  _friend_.”

Alex stared at him then, trying to tell Erik something with his eyes.

“Just a friend?” Erik asked hesitantly.

Alex smiled, small and gentle. “No.”

In the final weeks of training they concentrated on close combat, fighting without weapons before moving on to knife-fighting and then, after being sufficient enough in those areas, learning to fight with armed weapons.

Erik’s drill instructor controlled every movement Erik now made, his harsh bellow the first thing Erik heard every morning at 4:00 a.m. continuing on throughout the day until evening mess call. Until finally his training ended after he spent two frustrating weeks learning to master his weapons on a rifle range. He learned faster than the others with the aid of his power and was the first to fire his rifle, and then a machine gun.

Relentless and determined, he and his fellow recruits had been trained as well as they had time for in combat, they’d learned what they could of survival techniques and now there was nothing left but to put them to the test.

*

_1940, April, Cherbourg, France_

_"Are you still awake?" Charles whispered, leaning over Erik, bending forward and pressing his lips to Erik's hair._

_Erik mumbled unintelligibly, nuzzling his face against Charles' belly, warm through his thin button-down. He felt safe and hazy, his mind a soft candlelight flicker, radiating quiet pleasure against Charles' own._

_"Keep reading?" Erik asked drowsily._

_"Whatever you want, Love," Charles chuckled, running his fingers through Erik's hair, and then stroking more firmly when he elicited a tiny moan, before he refocused on his book and began again._

_"Prince Siegfried found himself alone in a peaceful spot by an enchanted lake where swans gently float across its surface."_

_In the quiet after Charles had stopped reading, half asleep, Erik had heard him whisper, “Will you forget me?” so faint Erik could barely make it out._

_And he must have known, he must have always known what Erik would do in the end._

“Ich könnte dich niemals vergessen,” Erik murmured quietly to the ghost inside his head.

“What’s that?” Sean asked over the sound of the waves throwing themselves against the rocks.

Erik blinked open his eyes, staring up at the weak sunshine, tracking for a moment the fast moving clouds that rose one on top of the other until they became mountainous.

“Nothing,” he answered, sitting up in the sand, reaching into the pocket on the inside of his shirt, touching his fingertips to the softness of Charles’ feather.

Erik’s unit was to be deployed along the Belgian-French border under the command of General Lord Gort. So far they had seen no combat.

Shortly after Erik had enlisted he’d learned that despite Poland’s resistance to the German Forces, the Battle of Kock on October 6 had ended the Polish Campaign and the resistance had moved underground. Two days later Germany seized Western Poland and declared the Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto. By now Erik knew that Poland was completely overrun, occupied and swarming with Nazi soldiers.

Uncertain of how he would manage to make his way back home, only knowing that he had to try, Erik absorbed each and every new skill serving with the BEF brought him, believing that in the end it would only make him stronger.

He volunteered for this, he thought he knew what he signed on for, what he was getting himself into.

It wasn’t until the following weeks when he realized he had been gravely mistaken.

*

_1940, May, Belgian-French border_

German forces crossed into Belgium on May 10 after Fort Eben-Emael had been taken early that morning by airborne assault. With the fulcrum of the Belgian defense now gone, Germany pushed forward with the invasion of France.

Crossing through a clearing, through prickly juniper and waist-high weeds, Erik and several others of his unit made for the trees, moving as swiftly as they could beneath the burning, bright light of the sun. They were fired upon, quickly losing four of their unit to gunshot wounds.

Reflexively, Erik had taken aim at the trees and with the use of his power, sent the bullet spinning on a track that curved until it shattered through its target’s skull. A shocked jolt running through him, his heartbeat hammering against his chest and his eyes widening. There wasn’t time to process what had just happened, what he had just done. Everything was suddenly too loud, too bright, and moving too fast. Hands pushing him as his steps faltered, forcing him to keep going.

His sleep that night conjured a terrible apparition. A swan soaring low beneath the clouds while he stared up at it from the shore of the sea, a red-orange glow upon its feathers from the setting sun, his hands moving of their own accord as he raised his rifle and took aim, following the track of the bullet as it zipped along through the air.

A burst of red showered forth from the swan’s breast as it stuttered in the air before plummeting into the waves, the tide pushing it up onto shore where Erik’s feet carried him forward until he was standing above it.

The body of the swan had gone leaving Charles in its place, but the wings remained, larger than Erik had ever seen, fanned out and heaving with the swell of the water. The perfect white of them ruined and soaked through with blood, as if Charles were an angel that had fallen by Erik’s hand, crash-landing in the water, his eyes wide open and glassy, reflecting the light of the red sun, staring up at Erik unseeingly.

“ _Nein!_ ”      

The sound of Erik’s own voice woke him in the dark and he sat up shivering and drenched in a cold sweat. Staring down at his hands for a moment, turning them over and over in the dark, expecting to find them coated in blood.

“You’re okay,” Sean whispered from the other side of the tent, his arms hugging his knees. He looked to Erik like he had been sitting awake the entire night. He sniffed once and Erik could hear him swallow a couple times before he said, “It’ll be okay.” He sounded as though he were talking to himself more than Erik.

Erik lowered himself back down to his sleeping bag, a nauseating wave of guilt rolling through him as he realized that earlier that day he’d made his first kill. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Sean’s shaky breaths as he tried to will his mind blank.

*

_1940, May 21, Scheldt River, France_

Erik was quickly becoming more and more familiar with his own power, stretching it out, learning what it could do. In the heat of conflict it was easy, his unnatural skill went completely unnoticed amidst the chaos.

His relationship with his weapons had become an intimate one, he knew each chink in the blade of his long knife, nearly invisible to the eye, and could feel the bullets as they roared down the barrel of his rifle, guiding their path to make absolutely certain they reached their destinations.

He had begun to sense heartbeats and electrical currents within the brain as he killed enemy after enemy,  _he refused to think of them as people_. In the blood soaked world he now lived he had even begun to sense the iron pumping along through the veins and organs of everyone around him.

During the day he focused intently on staying alive, uncertain if the next bullet would have his name on it, if he would be able to deflect it in time as well as all the others that were sent his way. Around him, men he had come to know and respect were dying, and he was filled with a constant anxious energy that never waned, the meager hours of sleep he managed increasingly riddled with nightmares.

On May 21 he lost Alex while his unit made their way back to the Scheldt River on the French border after failing to repel the German forces, being cut off from their supply depots, and receiving the order to withdraw to Dunkirk to begin evacuation, the last remaining port now that both the Channel ports Boulogne and Calais were lost.

The worst of it for Erik was that there had been no chance to process what had happened, there had been no chance to grieve.

They had been moving along the riverbank, Alex bringing up the rear when they were attacked. A shower of bullets coming at them through the trees. While Erik’s focus narrowed down to saving himself and those directly around him, Alex had been hit, first in the chest and then again between the eyes just before he tumbled down into the water.

Erik spun around at the shouts of the other men and at the heavy sound of the splash, his eyes momentarily blinded by a bright, fiery flash that exploded a tree leaning half over the water up ahead, sending it crashing into the river after Alex. Erik made to slide down the bank after him when Sean grabbed hold of him, screaming in his ear that they had to move, dragging him towards cover.

There were blisters all along the bottoms of Erik’s feet that had burst and seeped blood now from the endless walking, his uniform scratchy and clinging to him, stinking and drenched with sweat. Breathing had become too laborious a task, his lungs feeling like they weren’t drawing in enough air, each breath burning and dry. His body feeling heavier and heavier until finally he collapsed and didn’t move from his place in the dirt, watching listlessly as Sean worked on helping to set up a shelter.

Later in the dark Erik replayed Alex going down into the river, the water swallowing him whole, the flare of some strange weapon Erik hadn’t recognized lighting up the forest as Alex fell. His guilt gnawed away at him over the fact that he had been so focused on saving himself that he hadn’t saved Alex. He hadn’t known he’d been shot until it was too late. He thought about Armando, smiling in Alex’s photograph, and wondered how long he would wait for Alex’s return before he realized he was never coming home.

When Erik looked up again at Sean, the other had turned away, not wanting to talk, the easy joy in him finally prized away.

Erik curled up as small as he could, shivering from the cooler night air, fearful that sooner or later he would be shot himself or struck by an artillery shell and his ribcage would spring apart, revealing his tender and broken heart.

*

_1940, May 26, Belgian-French border_

In the woods with the thick stench of death and smoke hanging in the air, Erik’s world had exploded into chaos under the fire of rampaging panzers, splintering trees and throwing dirt high into the air, closer and closer until a round hit near to where he and Sean were running along in a bid to get out of range.

Erik had turned, forgoing subtly and using his power outright to force one of the closest panzers to turn on its neighbor and open fire. His body flooded with adrenaline, Erik turned forward again and was just about to open his mouth to call for Sean when his surroundings suddenly erupted and sent him sprawling onto his back, knocking him unconscious.

Memories flickered in and out of Erik’s mind, the smell of challah bread on the Sabbath, the crispness of his father’s suit at synagogue, Ruth’s giggling laugh, Charles; glowing in a shard of moonlight, water streaming down his skin as he beckoned Erik to come and drown with him, the heat from his mouth devouring Erik as they frantically kissed in the lake.

When Erik opened his eyes, letting his head clear and waiting for the intense ringing in his ears to die down before carefully sitting up, he turned his head slowly and found Sean. He’d meant to ask if Sean was okay, instead a sick dread welled up inside him as he took in Sean’s twisted body lying not twenty feet from him, shrapnel, jagged and sharp, jutting from his skin, embedded in one half of his face and in his throat. 

Erik scrambled to his side, clumsy and fumbling, his hands trembling as he cried out in a voice that shook, “scheiße, nein, oh nein.”

Sean’s huge and terrified eyes locked onto Erik’s, his mouth moving but no words came out, only blood.

Sean’s eyes started to slide off Erik’s face, focusing on nothing Erik could see.

“Look at me,” Erik said frantically, trying to stem the ceaseless flow of blood with his hands. “It’s okay, it’s okay, no, look at me.  _Look at me_. Hey… _hey. Sean_ …I’m gonna get you some help.”

Sean made a gurgling sound and his eyes refocused on Erik’s once again, clouded over with pain and wide open with fear.

“ _Sean_ …” Erik pleaded. “Nein, bleib bei mir!  _Sean_.”

He pulled Sean to his lap, smoothing his sweaty hair back from his face, wincing as his fingers left a smear of blood across Sean’s freckled skin. Sean shuddered hard, one hand reaching into the air, his eyes still on Erik and Erik latched onto his hand and held on tight. Ignoring the shots that could still be heard in the woods around them, uncaring at that moment whether he was found by enemy soldiers or not.

Sean’s eyes fluttered and he gave another gurgling rasp, more blood bubbling up from his lips and dribbling down his chin as Erik started to sing, quiet and soft, something that he had thought lost to him, something his father used to sing to him when he had been very small.

_shlof zhe mir shoyn yankele mayn sheyner,_

_di eygelakh di shvatsinke makh tsu._

_a yingele vos hot shoyn ale tseyndelekh,_

_muz nokh di mame zingen “ay lyu lyu”_

_a yingele vos hot shoyn ale tseyndelekh_

_un vet mit mazel bald in kheyder geyn._

_un lernen vet er khumesh un gemore,_

_zol veynen ven di mame vigt im ayn ?_  
  
He continued on even after Sean’s eyes had lost their light and glazed over, his pulse dwindling away and his skin going clammy and cold.

Erik sang for them both, feeling a part of himself withering, tears tracking down his face, blurring his sight as he forced himself back to his feet and turned away so that he could no longer see Sean’s ruined body. His footsteps lumbering and heavy as he tried to pick up his pace, pushing on through the trees. He had only made it a few steps before he tripped over his own feet, falling over and landing back in the dirt. This time he didn’t try to rise and let his vision wash away, wanting nothing more than to sleep, the sound around him ebbing away until everything became dark and mercifully silent.

*

Erik had to reach his unit, he had woken and found his feet again shortly after nightfall, dazed and stumbling through the trees, realizing that he was alone with the dead, that he had been separated from the others.

He felt sick and fevered and kept having to stop, leaning up against a tree until he caught his breath and could go on.

In the morning he could no longer stand up straight, cramping in his abdomen doubling him over and making him nauseous. He was on his knees, shuddering and trying not to pass out when he was found by two German soldiers.

Beyond exhausted and too ill to fight back, he slumped forward, planting his face in the dirt. When they hauled him back up again he made a feeble gesture, hoping to disarm them but he was too weak and his power failed him.

He was sent to Aachen, Germany, packed tightly into a cattle truck with fifty other prisoners of war crammed into each car for the next several hours. Hot and cramped, Erik did his best not to be sick from the incessant rocking, clinging to the side, near the vent, trying to catch a breath of air that wasn’t dank and stale through the ventilation bars. There was no sympathy for him in his feverish and rambling state, he was a prisoner; filthy and starving.

*

Following his capture, Erik was sent to Dortmund where his captors had to wait out three nights of air raids as Berlin was bombed by French Naval Aviation.

Forced back into a cattle truck, Erik heard a rumor that he and the other prisoners were being transported to Poland, his interest piquing as slowly and without medical attention he began regaining his strength. Poland was exactly where he wanted to get back to, and so, biding his time, he waited, carefully choosing the moment when he would use his power to escape from his captors.

Just past the Polish border, only a few hour’s journey from Lamsdorf, Erik forced the train to a screeching halt, his power gripping tightly to the rails and wheelset. Wrenching open the doors, he disarmed the soldiers that had stepped out, walking alongside the train to see what had happened. He killed them as an afterthought, crushing in their helmets along with their skulls, ignoring the panic and horror of the other prisoners as he jumped down from the car, flicking open the locking mechanisms of each car he passed on his way to the head of the train.

A numbness had spread through him following Alex and Sean’s deaths, his mercy burning away along with his sympathy as he killed the remaining soldiers before finding the train’s cowering engineer, taking up one of the fallen soldier’s pistols and shooting him in the chest.

*

_1940, September 7, Devonshire, England_

Ruth sighed, placing the watering can at her feet as she surveyed the lower garden, realizing that she was serving only the dirt now. The flowers had wilted and wept the last of their petals, the leaves on the trees beginning to turn. Up above the sky was soft and pale, the clouds thin and transparent.

She wondered where Erik was right then, what he was doing, if he missed her as badly as she missed him. The sound of feet crunching gravel made her turn, catching sight of Cain as he grumbled to himself and shuffled along towards the back entrance.

“What happened to your face?” she asked softly.

Cain paused, staring at her as if he only just noticed she was there. The purple bruising of his right eye vivid under the afternoon sunlight. He ignored her, looking down at his shoes and continued shuffling along until he turned around the hedgerow and she could no longer see him.

She frowned to herself; in the recent months Cain had become more and more withdrawn as Kurt fixated on him, wanting his son to be present at his side to learn the ways of business, regardless of whether Cain seemed interested or not.  

She was about to follow after him, to go and find Mrs. Elsner and ask her instead, when a dragonfly zoomed past her face. The metallic gleam of it snaring her attention and making her grin as she turned, abandoning the watering can to chase after it when she slowed and stopped again halfway down the garden path, listening to the loud and distressed call of a swan growing nearer and nearer.

Ruth’s eyes widened as it finally came into view, flapping wildly across the lawn where it suddenly plunged lower, crashing gracelessly into the manor front pond. Trumpeting noisily as it righted itself, beating its wings and rising back out of the water, heading off towards the forest, zigzagging through the air as if it had lost the ability to fly straight.

There was something terribly wrong, Ruth knew, and with a look behind her to the house’s windows, seeing no one in sight, she ran towards the woodland garden.

*

Charles soared over the tops of the trees into the clearing, swooping lower and lower before skidding along the surface of the water where he crashed just off the rocky shore. As the sun sank beneath the horizon his feathery body melted away leaving him free to scramble out of the water, grimacing first from the pain of his transformation and then from the wave of fear that was not his own crashing through him, threatening to wash him out of himself.

He crawled forward through the moss, shivering and shaking on his way to the chapel stairs. Once inside and dressed, he hunched up beside the altar, hiding his face against his knees, willing the fear to ebb away.

He started when he heard a small footstep on the topmost stair of the chapel, looking up at the sound, clumsily reaching out into the dark with his power until he found Ruth.

“Here,” he said softly, guiding her with his mind.

“You haven’t lit any candles,” Ruth said quietly, her steps coming closer.

“No,” Charles laughed tightly, “I guess I haven’t. Sorry.” He awkwardly stood, feeling around for the matches.

“Are you all right?” She asked. “I saw you out on the front lawn. You looked like you were having trouble flying.”

“There’s something wrong out there,” Charles whispered, finally getting his fingers to still in their trembling long enough to light one of the candles.

“Where?” Ruth asked.

Charles made a pained sound, turning to face her, sinking back down to the floor.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but everyone feels afraid.”

“In the house?” Ruth asked.

Charles shook his head and then winced. “No, farther away than that. I can hear all these voices…all these minds, it’s never happened like this before. It’s never been this bad,” he groaned.

“Charles?”

“Leave me,” Charles said, tucking his face back against his knees. “I want to be alone.”

Ruth hesitated, carefully reaching out to touch Charles’ shoulder, withdrawing when he flinched under her hand.

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” she said. “Will that help?”

Charles made another strange sound, pressing his hands over his ears. “No,” he said, “not tonight. Stay away tonight.”

After she had gone, Charles stayed curled up before the altar, holding himself, moaning as emotions that didn’t belong to him flickered in and out without his control.

There were flashes of memories, horror, fear, voices that were screaming inside his head, sometimes muted, sometimes deafening but there all throughout the night, never ceasing. Until towards the morning, too tired and too worn out, he fell into a fitful sleep where in his dreams the whole of London was ringed with fire. The horizon of the city crackling and burning, planes soaring across its skies, the motors grinding and pulsating. Guns firing intermittently, the sound sometimes close and sharp before fading, becoming muffled and soft as the planes moved farther away.

Incendiary bombs fell, flashing, flames whipping hundreds of feet into the air, London’s streets illuminated in the glow. The sky shining wrathful and red, brilliant specks of light flashing against it as antiaircraft shells burst. The buildings consumed by fire and smoke, their shadows stretching long across the Thames.

A blackbird singing woke Charles just before dawn, his eyes cracking open just slightly and immediately the voices rushed back in, never having left him. He grimaced and stared despondently out at the black shadows through the chapel doorway before turning away, his eyes closing again as he tried to force himself to relax, to mute the voices low enough so that he could think.

It didn’t work; his own thoughts were crowded out by those of so many others, his skull feeling close to bursting.

His eyes snapped back open, finding that the shadows outside had moved in closer, dancing along the walls, the wind hissing to him through the leaves of the trees. His own mind was turning on him, caving in on itself, the voices growing louder, stronger.

He pressed his hands back against his ears, his fingers pulling at his hair. “ _Stop it_ ,” he groaned. “ _STOP!_ ”

“Charles?” Sebastian’s voice said close in the dark.

Charles bolted upright, the ground tilting beneath his feet as he swayed dangerously, Sebastian forced to catch him around the waist before he fell, letting him sink back to his knees.

“What’s happening?” Charles asked weakly.

“The Germans are bombing London,” Sebastian said carelessly.

“What?” Charles whispered.

Sebastian waved his hand, brushing away Charles’ concern, and lowered himself to sit on one of Charles’ tall stacks of books. “Amusing isn’t it? Let them all destroy each other, I say.”

“How can you say that?” Charles said incredulously, rubbing small circles against his temples. “How can you…”

“Quiet,” Sebastian said warningly, and in Charles’ miserable silence leaned closer and said, “I didn’t come here to talk of London, Charles. I came because there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

*

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head stubbornly, “I won’t do this, you can’t… _how can you do this_? How can you ask  _me_  to do this?”

“Charles,” Sebastian soothed, stepping closer, the fingers of one hand clutching at the top of a gravestone. “I thought we agreed, you did say you wanted to live back in the house.”

“That was before I knew you planned to kill,” Charles spit, crossing his arms. “You can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

“You will,” Sebastian said simply. “What is the problem anyway? Kurt’s treatment of you has been appalling.”

“I  _won’t_  do this,” Charles insisted, glaring hard at Sebastian.

“It’s not as though I’m asking you to take care of it yourself,” Sebastian said, taking another step closer. “I’m merely asking you to calm his mind, make it simpler for me. Wouldn’t you prefer it if he didn’t experience any pain?”

Charles shook his head horrified. “You’re insane,” he said, backing away from Sebastian’s advancing steps, fleeing from the graveyard and into the chapel.

He had slumped down in front of the altar and was staring down at the drawing Erik had given him, trying to soothe himself, when Sebastian followed.

“I’m not asking you,” Sebastian snarled, striding across the chapel. “This isn’t open for debate. I’m telling you.”

“ _No_ ,” Charles growled back.

Sebastian’s face twisted, his eyes landing on the drawing on Charles’ lap just before he reached down, snatching it away from Charles.

“Don’t,” Charles said, getting back to his feet, trying to take it back.

“That boy is most likely dead by now,” Sebastian said.

“No.” Charles shook his head.

“And he is never coming back. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think he was going to love you? That you were actually going to be together?”

“Give it back to me,” Charles pleaded.

Sebastian looked it over in disgust before tearing the drawing in half, then tearing it again, throwing the pieces into the air so that they rained down over Charles.

“Let me explain something to you,” Sebastian hissed, grabbing hold of Charles’ chin, forcing him to look up, his fingers vicelike and bruising, “you belong to me, the only reason you’re even alive is because I find you useful. If you fail to be useful, if you prove to me that I was mistaken in your value, I won’t hesitate in killing you myself.”

*

Following Erik’s escape from the train destined for Lamsdorf, he had taken what weapons he could carry and ran until he reached the woods, stretching his power far out in every direction, his sense of metal alerting him whenever anyone or anything carrying artillery came too close. He had been on his own for three days when, standing on a ridge, surrounded by pine, hidden away within the shadows, waiting and listening, he sensed he was not alone.

In the middle of the forest, Erik had been found by a small unit of partisans, feeling an alien moment of joy that quickly melted away when weeks later he was reunited with his old rabbi, Amoz Kaufman, who had managed to survive and escape from the ghettos into the forest, joining the resistance.

Erik had stumbled to him beneath the darkening dusk, begging for any word, any news, as he had been searching endlessly to try and find his parents.

“Erik,” Amoz said gently, “I’m so sorry, but all that I can tell you is that your father is certainly dead and your mother was deported from Warsaw shortly after her arrival.”

“When did she leave Warsaw?” Erik demanded sharply, purposefully ignoring what Amoz said about his father, a pit opening up in his stomach.

Amoz looked wearily into his eyes, his voice laced with sorrow as he said, “She departed Warsaw in July…after that she was sent to Treblinka.”

Amoz watched as Erik closed his eyes, comprehension dawning, but pressed on, getting the words out quickly.

“Treblinka is an extermination camp, Erik. She would have been killed almost as soon as she arrived. I’m so, so terribly sorry.”

*

The official term for the mass extermination of the Jews was  _Endlösung der Judenfrage_  (the “Final Solution of the Jewish Question”).

The Nazis disguising the “Final Solution” as the mass “resettlement to the east.” Their victims told they were being taken to labor camps in Ukraine when in truth, the deportations meant death at either Bełżec, Chełmno, Sobibór, Majdanek, Treblinka, or Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Erik learned that the gassing at Treblinka had begun on July 23, and that his mother would have been sent immediately to the undressing area by the  _Sonderkommandos_ that oversaw the arrival platform, before being sent to the gassing chambers.

The grief and rage had been overwhelming, threatening to rip Erik apart. He’d ended up alone in a close growing group of trees after desperately needing to be out of sight from the others. His anger making him lash out, wanting to do damage. He snapped sticks, grossly wishing they were the bones of Nazi soldiers, and melted each and every piece of metal he had on himself, before he reshaped it, then tore it apart and reshaped it again. Over and over until he was exhausted and shivering. The mire of his own anguish drawing him further and further into the pit of hatred that opened up inside him, fiery and all consuming, threatening to destroy anything that crossed his path and himself along with it.

*

_1942, December, Minsk, Poland_

There had been no winter like the one that had descended on Northern Europe in 1942 for at least a hundred years. The temperature in Poland dropping to -30 degrees Celsius and lower. In another time, in another life, Erik would have celebrated Chanukah, could almost imagine the twinkle of candlelight from the menorah dancing across the glittering snow before the image dissolved and he was left with only the cold gripping tightly to his bones.

The icy chill bit at Erik’s skin as he walked, the snow dampening his footsteps as he passed the low wooden gate, his chest tight as he neared the wreckage that had once been his home. The wind carded its fingers through his hair, heavy snowflakes dusting over his shoulders.

He walked up the front steps and across the now blackened beams of the floor, each step stirring up grey ash, sending it swirling amongst the snow. His home had been burnt nearly to the ground, only bits of the structure frame remaining.

Near the place where the soapstone wood burner still stood he landed on his knees, clenching his teeth hard together, angrily raking his hands through his hair. He blinked back the tears, he hadn’t cried now in ages, sitting among the ashes with the snow silently covering him as he lamented to his mother’s ghost.

He imagined all the things he would say to her if they could meet again. That he had tried, that he was sorry. That his blood stained hands were righteous.

He could almost imagine her pleading with him to stop before he sacrificed his own soul. He could not. He had been claimed by rage, knowing full well in his heart that he had been cast out by God.

*

_1943, January, Rudniki Forest, Poland_

Erik could hear the German tanks moving just past the edge of the forest as he pressed himself up along the wide trunk of a tree, listening to the shots being fired in the distance, growing louder, until they were unnervingly close as Nazis gunned down some poor, fleeing soul.

Erik’s hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to intervene, shushing the two children he had in his care, a boy and a girl, herding them along toward the camp as quickly as he could. He worried while he considered the winter snowfall, knowing that their footsteps would leave an obvious trail to follow, and so to combat being captured, he led them on a long, out of the way path back to the dugouts that had become Erik’s winter home. The places where he now spent the slow hours when the cold outside became too much to bear, the only light inside coming from small, burning sticks stabbed into the earthen walls, the smoke quickly filling the space, and with nowhere to escape, making Erik cough and his eyes burn.

He spared a glance behind himself, noticing how thin they both were, deciding that there would have to be another raid to get food soon. Normally they would have foraged and scavenged what food they could, but in the long winter months they resorted to taking, by force if need be, from Nazi sympathizers who lived in the villages. Or else relying on the kindness of farmers, though this was often just as dangerous, as the Germans had decreed that offering help of any kind for the Jews was punishable by death for both the helper and his entire family. Recently there had been a period of several days where Erik had to go without food and grew so desperate and frenzied, he began eating the snow.

“Where is Mama?” the girl asked him fearfully, stepping on his heels.

“Hush,” Erik snapped, not answering, knowing that the girl’s mother was dead.

The boy didn’t speak at all, Erik glancing back at him again, seeing a numb look in his eyes as he stumbled along. Their parents had managed to escape from one of the ghettos, frantically trying to save their children, to get them into the forests, into the camps where Jewish escapees too old or too young to fight hoped to wait out the war, protected by the forest partisan units.

They had both died for their effort, but not until after succeeding to make contact with Nadia, a girl two years older than Erik, who had promised to do what she could before passing them off to Erik when she decided to double back and lead off the advancing soldiers. Leaving Erik alone to protect the children, threatening to shoot him herself if he should fail.

Irritated and grinding his teeth together, not knowing what was happening, he led them on, keeping his anger relatively to himself until he got them to the campsite, where he handed them off before rounding back the way they had come, checking to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

*

_1943, February, Rudniki Forest, Poland_

At dusk the ravens flew in one by one to roost for the night in the branches above Erik as he limped past, his clothing flapping raggedly in the wind, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over his face. The snow fell soft and silent around him, the trees creaking wearily, cracking and popping from the cold, making it sound as though he were being followed, their spindly, naked limbs stretching towards the wintery sky and the fading light.

He kept looking back over his shoulder, trying to move quickly, taking the long way back to the dugout for the night to avoid detection. His shin burned and stung with each step and as he looked over his shoulder a second time, he cursed both himself and his luck as he noticed that he was leaving a patchy trail of blood behind, vivid against the stark white snow.

He’d been in the middle of blowing up a railway shipment of supplies for the Germans when he’d been found out by a German soldier. Erik had killed him, stripping him as quickly as he could of his uniform to take back with him, but not before he’d been shot. Failing to deflect the bullet away as both he and the soldier shot at each other at the same time.

The bullet was still there, beneath Erik’s skin, grating nauseatingly against the bone. He wanted to pull it free but first had to reach the dugout. Far off in the distance, he could hear dogs barking as a hunt for him began.  

In the past weeks he’d grown bolder, becoming involved with the main resistance in Poland, the Armia Krajowa, the “Home Army” or AK for short. Volunteering himself for missions that required him to engage in acts of sabotage.

The ravens above him cawed out gutturally, perhaps sensing a kill was about to be made, though Erik feverishly hoped the soldiers would call off the hunt as usually they didn’t want to venture into the unfamiliar forest, especially not with night falling.

There was another harsh caw up above, and Erik gritted his teeth and kept moving. Long after the light had gone, he made it back to the dugout, situating himself alone against a tree, pressing his back against the bark while his comrades crammed in together beneath the ground. He shivered and swore, sweating profusely as he bit down hard on a scrap of leather, his fingers shaking as he coaxed the bullet back out through his flesh.

There was a minimal amount of medical care available within the partisan camps, and so Erik had to treat his own wounds as best he could, only relying on a doctor from one of the villages as a last resort, as many, like the other local residents, sympathized with the Nazis.

Afterward, drenched in a cold sweat, he swallowed hard and held the bullet in the palm of his hand before dropping it into his pocket while he considered joining the others in the dugout, wondering what form his nightmares would take if he should sleep.

Lately in his dreams he was forced to watch, unable to help or move as wolves picked apart the flesh of his beloved swan. Other times he himself was the wolf, savagely devouring Charles, bones and all, without a thought.

He shivered in the dark, listening to the eerie creaking of the trees, turning Charles’ feather over again and again, running his fingertips gently along the length of it before pressing it against his lips. Grieving that he had fallen in love with a swan and with his own two hands had stripped him of his wings and went to where he could not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations:
> 
> “Ich könnte dich niemals vergessen” = “I could never forget you”
> 
> “Nein” = “No”
> 
> “Scheiße, nein, oh nein” = “Fuck, oh fuck”
> 
> “Nein, bleib bei mir!” = "No, stay with me!”
> 
>  
> 
> [Yankele - Yiddish lullaby written by Mordechai Gebirtig:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJlIOMaqj0E)
> 
> shlof zhe mir shoyn yankele mayn sheyner,  
> di eygelakh di shvatsinke makh tsu.  
> a yingele vos hot shoyn ale tseyndelekh,  
> muz nokh di mame zingen “ay lyu lyu” 
> 
> a yingele vos hot shoyn ale tseyndelekh  
> un vet mit mazel bald in kheyder geyn.  
> un lernen vet er khumesh un gemore,  
> zol veynen ven di mame vigt im ayn ? 
> 
> a yingele vos lernen vet gemore,  
> ot shteyt der tate, kvelt un hert zikh tsu.  
> a yingele vos vakst a talmid-khokhem,  
> lozt gantse nakht der mamen nit tsuru ? 
> 
> a yingele vos vakst a talmid-khokhem,  
> un a geniter soykher oykh tsuglaykh.  
> a yingele a kluger khosn bokher,  
> zo lign azoy nas, vi in a taykh ? 
> 
> nu shlof zhe mir, mayn kluger khosn bokher,  
> dervayl ligstu in vigele bay mir.  
> s'vet kostn fil mi un mame’s trern,  
> bizvanen s'vet a mentsh aroys fun dir!
> 
> Yiddish to English translation:
> 
> Sleep, sleep, Yankele, my handsome son.  
> Close your little black eyes.  
> My little one, now that you have all your teeth -  
> must you make your mother sing you to sleep?
> 
> The little boy who has all his teeth  
> and who, God permitting, will soon go to kheyder  
> And learn Torah and Talmud -  
> must he cry when his mama rocks him to sleep?
> 
> The little boy who will learn Talmud -  
> and how glad and proud in his heart  
> your father is that you'll be learning Talmud -  
> must he make his mother stay awake all night?
> 
> Sleep then, my little one, my clever one  
> who will be a bridegroom yet.  
> Sleep while you are still in your cradle by my side.  
> It will cost your mother many tears to make a man of you.
> 
>  
> 
> The line Charles reads in Erik’s memory is from the 2nd Act of Swan Lake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [widgenstain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/pseuds/widgenstain) [(tumblr here)](http://widgenstain.tumblr.com/) for providing the German translations. <3
> 
> Thank you also to [chazstity](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/) for her incredibly beautiful artwork seen [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/120808840656/if-you-like-cherik-then-the-swan-by-waitfornight) [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/118338117986/honestly-if-i-had-the-time-id-draw-the-whole-of) [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/117880342701/the-swan-is-probably-the-most-beautiful-fic-ive) and [here](http://chaezthetic.tumblr.com/post/117823505148/i-literally-cant-put-more-than-2-energy-into). To [Mikanskey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey) [(tumblr here)](http://mikanskey.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous drawing seen [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4153122) and [here](http://mikanskey.tumblr.com/post/121773334938/mikanskey-this-new-fanart-is-to-illustrate-a). To [shadow-drawings](http://shadow-drawings.tumblr.com/) for her beautiful artwork [here](http://shadow-drawings.tumblr.com/post/121940887441/the-swan-by-waitfornight). And to [lynnfinne](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous artwork [here](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/post/120341545420/an-illustration-done-for-the-swan-by-waitfornight). I’m incredibly grateful to have received such beautiful, lovely art, thank you all SO much. <333
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: character death, violence, and disturbing imagery.

_1943, June, Devonshire, England_

“What is it like?” Ruth whispered, perched atop the gravestone closest to where Charles lay flat on the ground, his palms open and facing the heavens, the moon swathing him with its light.

Charles exhaled slowly but didn’t open his eyes, his power stretched long in every direction, farther than he’d ever dared push it before. Gliding along, snaring and reeling in the surface thoughts of anyone his power collided with.

A mother had just been sent word that her son was dead. An old man was hunched over in front of his bathroom mirror weeping, clad in only his dressing gown. A boy was pleading on a front porch for just one goodnight kiss.

Charles concentrated, pushing himself farther still, past the houses dotting the country lane until he found the harbor, brushing through the dreams of those already slumbering. A grizzled fisherman jerking awake at his presence, wondering if he’d just been touched by a ghost.

_Asleep, awake, asleep, nightmares, hopeless daydreams_ ; Charles touched them all lightly before moving far out over the sea where he met with goliath creatures beneath the waves whose single-mindedness unnerved him but naught else, and Charles retreated back to land.

A woman’s husband would not return from the war, their child would grow up without a father.  _Pain, a wash of grief_ , and Charles let go, his concentration crumbling away. It was like having an entire galaxy trapped within the aching confines of his skull and it was all too much and not enough.

“I can’t describe it,” he said breathily.

“Try.”

The night sounds of the forest came trickling back in as Charles spooled back into himself, opening his eyes, the soft light from the moon almost dazzling to him after the darkness within his own head. There was a splash out on the lake, a fish leaping above the water, insects, frogs, the slow creaking of branches. 

Charles looked up at Ruth, the sheer, pale green layers of her dress floating outward like gossamer wings at the slightest touch of the wind, making her appear like a faerie of the forest alighted down on top of the stone. It didn’t require the usage of his power to feel the sadness radiating from her.

“It’s like being spirited away,” he decided, “you have to be careful not to let yourself drift out too far or you risk not being able to return.”

Ruth met his eyes and carefully,  _carefully_ , Charles peeled back the layers of her sorrow to discover the source, already suspecting what he would find and yet it did not lessen the ache that blossomed within him as he examined her thoughts, festering inside her until they became fetid.

“Erik is not dead,” Charles whispered.

“A telegram was sent to the house,” Ruth said mournfully, looking down at the ground.

“He isn’t.”

“He was not evacuated,” Ruth went on, sounding far, far older than she should, “and he is not in any of the Prisoner of War camps.”

Charles shook his head slowly, he would know, he couldn’t explain why, but he felt certain he would know.

“Charles?” Ruth’s voice was tenuous and frail.

“He isn’t dead,” Charles whispered again.

Ruth inhaled sharply and looked up at the sky. “Is this always what it’s like? To love someone?”

Charles pushed himself to his feet but didn’t move any closer.

“Is it supposed to hurt like this?” Ruth asked, her tears shining in the dark.

Charles barked a laugh that was more like a sob. “I don’t know.”

“Do you miss him?” she asked, nearly inaudible.

“ _Every day_.”

*

It was a warm, damp spring, mosquitoes swarming thick in the late evening. Charles swearing as he slapped his arm, bitten for the eighth time in a row, itching irritably as he looked over at Ruth. She seemed to be paying the insects no mind, petting her fingers along the bumpy skin of a toad she had seated in her lap, murmuring to it sweetly while she finished off the last of the pastries she had brought Charles from the kitchen.

Charles smiled despite the nuisance mosquitoes, thinking to himself that she must be in a better spirit, though when he touched his mind to hers it was like dropping deep into a well, the bottom pitch black with grief. She truly believed now that Erik was dead. An image sparking inside his head: the cook up in the house, Mrs. Elsner, sitting Ruth down for a consoling talk after the telegram’s arrival. Charles’ mind recoiled, and he leaned back heavily against the gravestone behind him as he looked away from her again to the mist rising on the surface of the lake. She was twelve years old,  _he_ was supposed to be the adult, but he wasn’t strong enough for what was inside her head.

After the London Blitz had ended in May of 1941, Hitler ordering his bombers east for the invasion of Russia, Sharon asked Ruth what direction she wanted her life to take now. Her entire family was certainly dead, she could not return to Poland. Ruth had not responded and so Sharon continued, perhaps Ruth’s tutoring should now include preparing her for university, so that when she was eighteen she might find a wealthy husband to care for her. 

Charles grimaced, imaging shapes moving in the mist. Sharon wanted a companion but she also required that companion to be of a certain class. She had Ruth dressed as finely as could be, she had brought her the best tutors, and now that it appeared Ruth would be staying in the manor house indefinitely, Sharon fixed her sights on Ruth’s future. After all in six years-time she would be eighteen and of proper marrying age.

Ruth had pushed away her tea, she did want to be married, she had said.  _‘Ruth, my darling, becoming a spinster is the absolute worst thing imaginable’_.

There was nothing that could ever make Charles live back up in the house, he decided. Sebastian’s claim over him was almost up, and when it was he would leave, vanishing from the Markos' lives for good. He would find somewhere beside the sea. He would finish his own schooling and go to university. He would teach.

“Ruth?” he said softly, turning his head against the stone to look at her. “If I ever get out of here, would you like to come with me?”

Ruth looked up from the toad, a slow smile stretching across her face. “ _Yes_ ,” she said softly.

Charles smiled back at her and then frowned, slapping his own cheek as the whining buzz of a mosquito sounded close to his ear.

“They’re eating me alive,” he complained.

“Perhaps we should…” Ruth began, cutting off as Charles suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the trees.

“Does Kurt know you’ve…” he paused, his power unfurling, sweeping out into the forest.

“What?” Ruth asked hesitantly.

“Kurt’s coming this way,” Charles said darkly, rising to his feet, “and he’s not alone.”

“Charles?”

The air was humid and warm but Charles felt instantly cold. “Ruth,” he whispered, Ruth, run.”

“Why?” Ruth breathed, setting the toad back into the moss, rising to her feet.

“ _Run_ ,” Charles snapped, “back to the house, now.”

Ruth didn’t question him further, her small feet carrying her lithely over the mossy rocks. Charles closed his eyes, following her with his mind as she fled, making it so that if anyone should look her way all their eyes would find would be shadow covered moss and the new shoots of tender, green leaves. The only sensation of her passing, a simple, unexpected gust of wind.

He stood very still and waited, realizing that all around him the forest had gone silent.

“What’s going on?” Charles asked as Sebastian coaxed Kurt into the clearing, exhaling as he felt Ruth rushing for the woodland garden. He let her go, turning his attention back on Sebastian, recoiling as he found Sebastian’s mind bathed in blood.

“Just taking care of a little business,” Sebastian said, smiling sharply with all his teeth, leading Kurt closer towards the chapel.

“You said there was a problem,” Kurt said, glancing at Charles suspiciously before looking back at Sebastian.

“Mm, there is,” Sebastian replied seriously, his smile falling as he stared meaningfully at Charles. “I’ve put this off for far too long. Charles?”

Charles didn’t react, keeping his expression impassable while he thought quickly. Sebastian intended to kill Kurt here and now, that much was clear but there was something Sebastian had been guarding very close, wrapped up tight behind layers and layers of false truths, something he felt would be just the thing needed to tip the scales of Charles’ morality over to his favor.

“I already told you no,” Charles said quietly, nimbly working at pulling Sebastian’s secret free but his mind was prickly and difficult to untangle.

“Now, now, hear me out, Charles,” Sebastian said kindly, holding a hand out to him, beckoning him to come to Sebastian’s side.

Charles stared disdainfully at the offered hand, his feet planted firmly, refusing to budge.

“What does he have to do with this?” Kurt asked sharply.

A flicker of irritation shone in Sebastian’s eyes at Charles’ obstinacy, his hand lowering again, his frown deepening as he looked at Kurt like he were an insect Sebastian intended to squash.

“I’ve been thinking it’s time young Charles here knew the truth, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asked, his puffed up exterior deflating slightly. He looked more nervous and uncomfortable than Charles had ever remembered.

“About how exactly he ended up in this little predicament,” Sebastian said.

“Shaw,” Kurt said his name like a warning.

Sebastian ignored him. “Charles are you aware of how your father died?”

“ _Shaw_.”

“Kurt here, left him to die,” Sebastian said, his tone near cheerful.

“That’s not true,” Kurt insisted angrily.

“Isn’t it though?” Sebastian’s devilish grin was back. “Now, my dear, Charles, what do you say to that?”

Charles quickly picked apart the constraining chords of Sebastian’s thoughts, the blood pounding in his ears, his stomach clenching painfully as he fought the urge to be sick right where he stood. Grisly flashes of Sebastian’s memory flooded into Charles’ mind. But the picture was not complete yet, Sebastian still clutching hard to the things he did not want Charles to see.

Charles looked between them in shock, shaking his head slowly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sebastian sighed, “do I have to spell it out for you?”

At Charles’ openly appalled expression Sebastian said, “Kurt  _murdered_  your father.”

“That’s a damn lie!” Kurt roared furiously.

“He murdered your father and married your  _lovely_  mother, making himself the master of your household. Can you guess  _why_?”

Charles took a step back, his hand reaching out behind himself, coming in contact with a gravestone, gripping it tightly. Sebastian’s words were true, but there was more. Charles made himself breathe in deeply before plunging back into Sebastian’s mind, determined to wrench the remainder of the truth free.

“You think you can make a fool of me like this?” Kurt snarled at Sebastian, “and that I’ll just stand here and take it? Need I remind you that we are in this together?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Sebastian said in amusement, taking a step toward Kurt.

Kurt was sweating, his face purpling as he eyed Sebastian warily. “Is this about money?” he demanded.  “Is that it, you’ve grown impatient?”

Shaw’s mind couldn’t hold up against Charles, the walls finally collapsing under his insistence and he was able to look at long last and see exactly what had befallen his father.

“There is that,” Sebastian agreed, taking another step closer to Kurt.

“I told you,” Kurt said, intent on keeping space between himself and Sebastian, his words sounding strangely like a plea, “when the boy is twenty-one, when the deal is complete then you will have your –”

“You promised him my inheritance,” Charles said dazedly. “You gave me to him to keep until my trust fund matures…you – you knew I wasn’t – that I wasn’t insane but you still let the doctors torture me. You were going to let them lobotomize me.”

“Cruel isn’t it?” Sebastian said sympathetically, smoothing the back of his hand down Charles’ cheek.

Charles flinched, he hadn’t even noticed that Sebastian had moved. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

Sebastian withdrew his hand, studying Charles closely. “Wouldn’t you like it now if Kurt were punished?”

“ _What_?” Kurt said incredulously.

“Do what I asked of you, my clever one,” Sebastian murmured to Charles. “And I’ll see that it’s done.”

“I’m leaving,” Kurt said quickly. “I can see that you aren’t in your right mind this evening, Shaw. You and I can meet in town, in public, we can talk this thing over. Whatever it is that’s troubling you, I’m sure I can right it. If it’s more funds that you’re after then –”

“I have no intention of allowing you to leave,” Sebastian said softly with a significant look at the graveyard. “In fact, I think you’re about to become a permanent guest of our little establishment.”

Kurt blanched, backing up towards the tree line.

“Do what I asked of you,” Sebastian whispered again close to Charles’ ear.

“No,” Charles choked out, feeling sick.

“He  _killed_  your father.”

“It wasn’t just him,” Charles said, shaking his head, staring at Sebastian with wide, disbelieving eyes, “ _it wasn’t just him_.”

Kurt hit his back to a tree, jumping as its twiggy branches snagged against his shirt. He turned quickly, bolting back into the forest, his large frame crashing loudly through the brush.

“You have to make things difficult for me, don’t you?” Sebastian snarled at Charles, watching Kurt flee. “You couldn’t just do as I asked.”

Sebastian started forward after Kurt, far quicker and far nimbler as he ran across the ground before morphing midstride into his owl form and winging beneath the canopy of the trees.

Charles sprinted after them, his eyes catching on the flutter of Kurt’s shirt as he ran. He’d nearly caught up with Kurt when Sebastian swooped low, his talons raking over Kurt’s back.

Kurt doubled forward, hissing in pain, his hand shooting out against a tree to steady his footing. Sebastian was back to himself again, right behind Kurt. Kurt swung around, making to strike Sebastian in the face, only the blow may as well have never landed. Sebastian didn’t react in any way beyond a mildly amused smirk. Kurt staring at him baffled just as Sebastian closed his hands around Kurt’s thick neck, swinging him around until he was facing Charles, his eyes bulging out at him as Sebastian began to squeeze.

“ _NO_ ,” Charles cried, “ _NO_ ,  _NO_ ,  _STOP_!”

Sebastian froze in place, his fingers still closed around Kurt’s throat, his eyes burning with rage.

Charles’ face contorted with pain, shocked with himself, not knowing how he had stopped Sebastian only that his grip on Sebastian’s mind was already slackening. Sebastian’s thoughts dark and furious, undulating against Charles’ like a snake.

Kurt looked at Charles in frightened confusion, yanking Sebastian’s fingers away, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of air.

“ _Go_ ,” Charles growled, urging him away.

Kurt ran off into the dark, Charles listening to him go, still latched tight to Sebastian’s mind. It felt like an eternity but really had only been a few moments when Charles groaned as his hold on Sebastian loosened enough that Sebastian’s mind rushed forth, overwhelming him, sending him spiraling back into himself.

Sebastian shook off the last hazy bit of Charles’ influence, blinking his eyes as if he were awakening from a trance.

“What did you just do to me?” Sebastian whispered gruffly, his fingers creeping up the side of his face to touch tentatively at his own temple.

Charles felt exhausted, taking a step back and leaning heavily against a tree, clutching at a low branch. His heartbeat too fast and his head feeling like it was about to crack in two. Sebastian stared at him strangely, seeing him anew as he realized what Charles had done.

“ _How dare you_ ,” Sebastian said, “how dare you use your powers against me.  _Me_.”

“You gave no me choice,” Charles grit out.

“I should have seen this coming,” Sebastian said to himself. “Your kind has always been too unpredictable. But I thought if I, if I got you young, if I raised you myself…”

“ _Sebastian_ …” Charles breathed.

“I thought you’d be easier to manage,” Sebastian said.

“ _You killed my father_ ,” Charles finished, “both of you, together.”

Sebastian met Charles’ eyes, reading on his face that Charles knew, he had seen, and now the damage was done. There was no longer any point in denying it.

“Yes,” he agreed finally.

“ _Why_?” Charles’ voice cracked, already knowing the answer.

Sebastian reached forward faster than Charles could react, gripping him by his chin, forcing him to take a step forward until he was nose to nose with Sebastian. “You’re not a child anymore, Charles,” Sebastian said, the fingers of one hand digging in hard against his flesh, rupturing tiny blood vessels, leaving fingertip bruises, his other hand brushing Charles’ sweaty hair back gently from his face. “You know why.”

He let Charles go, Charles stumbling back against the tree as Sebastian transformed back into an owl, his large eyes fixing on Charles before he rose into the air and flew off after Kurt.

Charles pushed himself forward, lumbering after him again, too wrung out and weakened this time to stop him. He was only just to the outskirts of the forest, staring out at the house, unable to go any further, when he dropped to his knees and screamed, clawing at his head, feeling the wild and pained flare of Kurt’s thoughts as his life was snuffed out in the middle of the front room.

By the time Charles was able to open his eyes, the house had been thrown into chaos. Sharon was shrieking, Ruth had hidden in the kitchen, the members of the staff scrambling away from Sebastian as he strode out into the hall. Cain pressed against the wall of the stairwell, shuddering from what he had just witnessed.

Charles waited, keeping one tendril of his power wrapped around Ruth while he leapt from one mind to the next, wondering what Sebastian would do now.

*

Charles did not move from the outskirts of the forest until the sky began to pale, lighter and lighter as he shucked away his clothing where he stood, waiting for the sun to rise.

Trapped once more within the body of a swan, he soared out of the forest, hovering in the air above the house only for a few more moments before letting the wind carry him back to sea.

At dusk he flew back into the clearing, landing down gently on the surface of the lake, turning his slender, long neck to stare at Sebastian where the other was watching him, waiting on the shore.

Charles stayed out at the center even as the sun sank, his transformation rippling painfully across his flesh as his bones began to creak, rearranging themselves as he descended down into the murky dark of the water. He surfaced, choking and heaving, sinking once more before kicking back to the surface, treading water to keep himself afloat, glaring at Sebastian as he began to laugh.

“Come ashore, Charles,” Sebastian said with a smile, “I have your clothes here.”

Charles forced himself to keep treading, his body tired and aching for rest after his sleepless night.

“How long can you keep it up?” Sebastian wondered.

“You’re a monster,” Charles sputtered, swallowing a mouthful of water as he bobbed lower.

“So was Kurt,” Sebastian replied easily.

“What have you done with the others?” Charles asked, kicking hard again.

“Absolutely nothing, they’re quite unharmed,” Sebastian assured. “After all a house does need servants.”

“My mother?” Charles asked. “And Cain?” He swallowed another mouthful before getting out, “Ruth?”

“Untouched,” Sebastian said.

“Don’t hurt them,” Charles warned. “Don’t you dare hurt them.”

“Then do as I say,” Sebastian said, “and come ashore.”

Charles had no choice, he couldn’t swim any longer and Sebastian knew it. He paddled into the shallows, wading slowly to the rocky shore where he carefully climbed out, his eyes on Sebastian the entire time. The moment his feet touched the moss, Sebastian latched onto his wrist, yanking him out hard. Charles slipped, landing on the ground where Sebastian had thrown down his clothes. He scrambled into them quickly, the fabric growing damp from his wet body.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you,” Sebastian said once he was dressed.

“Me?” Charles said angrily. “ _You_  are disappointed in  _me_?”

“I’m also disappointed in myself,” Sebastian admitted quietly, looking away from him. “I’ve always known your kind was dangerous.”

“You keep saying _‘my kind’_ ,” Charles said. “What does that mean?”

“ _Telepaths_ ,” Sebastian said, “ _mind-readers_ ,  _soothsayers_ ,  _psychics_ , take your pick, the world has a dozen names for you, the fact is, you cannot be trusted.” He looked into Charles’ eyes again, “I’ve been thinking about this, about how to deal with you, and I’ve decided that it’s best if you continue living here…alone.”

“And you’ll be staying in the house from now on,” Charles guessed.

“That’s right,” Sebastian said.

Charles shook his head, smiling bitterly. “You talk of trust when you, yourself helped to murder my father. You crept around like the devil you are, thinking only of money. Look at everything you’ve taken from me.”

“ _And what about all I have given to you_? If not for me you’d be a drooling simpleton locked up in some psychiatric ward.”

“None of that would have ever happened if you hadn’t killed my father,” Charles snarled.

Sebastian’s eyes flashed darkly, his hand reaching out to touch Charles but Charles jerked away.

“As I was saying,” Sebastian spoke, the anger still dark in his eyes, “I think it best if you continue living here on your own.”

“ _You cannot keep me here_!” Charles exploded. “I’m almost twenty-one and as soon as I…”

Sebastian was laughing. “Oh, Charles, are you sure you weren’t lobotomized after all? Do you honestly think I’m going to just let you wander free now?”

Charles’ eyes widened in horror. “You can’t do this, you swore to let me go, I don’t even care about the damn money but I _cannot_  stay here. Erik will return, we’ll –”

“ _Erik_?” Sebastian said, seizing on the name. “ _That damn Jewish boy_? That’s all you care about? There’s no possible way he’s even alive, let alone loves you.”

Charles shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he hissed vehemently.

“Oh, I’m wrong am I?” Sebastian sneered. “I’ll tell you what, Charles, I’ll make you a deal, if that boy returns to this clearing and professes he loves you, I’ll grant you your freedom that very instant. I’ll even lay my own powers on the line. If he loves you, it’ll be my own undoing.

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Charles said fearfully, trying to seize on Sebastian’s mind, knowing what was coming, determined to make him stop.

“ _No_ ,  _no_ ,  _not this time_ ,” Sebastian snarled, grabbing Charles’ hand as it landed on his chest, squeezing Charles’ fingers until he screamed and could think of nothing but the pain, certain Sebastian would disintegrate the bones. “But it must be that boy,” he continued darkly, standing taller, and Charles dreaded what was coming next, “ _that boy_ ,  _no other_ , and he must swear to love you  _forever_ , he must make an everlasting vow of  _true love_ or else I curse you to become a swan each time the sun rises until your dying day.”

“ _Sebastian_ ,  _no_ ,” Charles moaned, an awful sensation flowing though him as Sebastian’s new curse took hold, gripping him tight. He fell to his knees, his eyes brimming with tears as he hunched forward. “Please,  _you swore_ , you swore you’d set me free!”

Charles was staring at the worn leather toes of Sebastian’s shoes when Sebastian cupped his cheek in one large hand almost tenderly, tipping his head back up, his other hand caressing through Charles’ hair.

“I can set you free right now, Charles,” Sebastian murmured, petting him soothingly, “if that is what you truly wish. I can send you straight from this world.”

Charles dipped a fragile tendril of his power into the abyss of Sebastian’s mind and found him thinking how easy, how quick it would be to snap Charles’ neck like this. He shuddered, the hand still in his hair not ceasing in its petting.

“Have you ever cared for me at all?” Charles asked, his voice cracking around his tears.

There was a faint flicker of something over Sebastian’s face that Charles thought looked like remorse before Sebastian composed himself, his hand stilling, falling away as he said, “No.”

“You’ve stolen the world from me,” Charles uttered, a tear spilling over, Sebastian wiping it away with his thumb as it tracked silently down his face.

“Life is cruel, Charles,” Sebastian said, “I would have thought your time with me would have taught you that.”

Charles leant forward again, pushing at Sebastian’s knee, bowing his head to the ground.

“Believe me, Charles,” Sebastian whispered, just before he changed himself back into an owl, “I’m doing you a favor. I learned a long, long time ago, never to trust, never to love. The only thing that truly matters in this world is power, and love is its downfall, it makes you weak.”

Charles tore angrily at the ground as Sebastian flew away, ripping up clumps of the moss, hurling rocks into the lake, growling and gnashing his teeth. All his hope had been eaten by the sea and despite his steadfastness that Erik lived, there was a part of him that grew stronger all the time that feared that should he ever be able to stretch himself far enough to touch Erik’s mind, he would find only the pressing silence of a grave.

*

_1943, November, Michelin Forest, Poland_

It was far too quiet, every sound Erik made screamingly loud to his own ears. He paused just inside the door to the storage shed, twitching with nerves and listening hard. It remained silent and he exhaled shakily, stepping inside, turning around again to peer back into the dark behind him, fearing being closed in with no other way out.

Nothing moved and he turned to face the dark interior of the shed once more, his mouth watering as he began rooting through the burlap bags in frantic hunger. Against the wall, shoved up into a corner, he found a half full sack of dried beans. Not hesitating as he began stuffing the beans into his mouth one handful at a time, gagging and choking as he forced them down.

There was a whistling from outside and Erik jerked back around to face the doorway, ready to find the farmer who owned the property he was trespassing on. He breathed and waited, the wind whistling down through the trees again. Erik forced himself to relax, it was only the wind, nothing else moved. Turning back around again he inspected the remainder of the shed.

Besides the beans, there was a bag of potatoes that Erik tremblingly tore into, pausing with a half chewed mouthful as he turned the potato he held over in his hands. Small worms wriggled around inside the flesh of it. Erik dropped it to the ground and heaved. Stumbling back outside, landing on his knees as he threw up everything he’d just eaten, groaning as his cramping stomach continued to spasm painfully.

He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, his eyes shut tight while he willed himself to stop shaking. Every part of him ached and he was so tired. He thought blearily how easy it would be to just lie down and not get back up again.

Half his comrades were now dead, some had frozen to death over the last winter, but most had been captured and killed. The Nazis, when they made a capture would often leave them out in the open, displaying their corpse in the town squares as a warning. Poland was ravaged and gutted.

The wind gusted hard, whistling again as it whipped through the trees. Erik opened his eyes and climbed back to his feet, grabbing the sack of beans and the worm riddled potatoes as he fled back up the hill, across a field, and into the woods.

Food was becoming scarcer, the dangers of surviving from day to day steadily increasing until Erik found himself overcome at odd times by a fit of anxiety that made his heart beat too fast and breathing virtually impossible. He didn’t understand how he had survived this long, how he still lived when both his mother and father were dead. It wasn’t fair, and in the trembling after his panic attacks had abated, he would steel himself with his thirst for vengeance.

Erik’s company had seen a relatively low amount of combat, all their efforts focused mainly on survival. But recently their conflicts with the Germans had increased sharply as talk of the Soviet Red Army in the Eastern front increased, and the AK began planning for the nationwide uprising, Operation Tempest, after the failed Warsaw Ghetto Uprising in May. The Uprising had opposed the Nazis last efforts to liquidate the remaining population to Treblinka, the Ghetto’s occupants knowing their efforts would almost certainly not save their lives but they had chosen to fight anyway, a last battle for honor, and a protest against the remaining world’s silence.

Beyond the Ghetto walls support was limited, but Erik’s company had joined forces with the AK, and had split up, working to attack German units close to the Ghetto walls while struggling to smuggle in weapons and ammunition, as well as instructions and supplies to those on the inside.

It wasn’t until the Germans had moved in with armored cars and began using flamethrowers, setting fire to houses, burning them block by block, and using fire-bottles, blowing up the sewers, that were forced to retreat back to the Michelin Forest. The flames and smoke engulfing everything until there was no air left to breathe.

The Uprising officially ended on May 16, after the Great Synagogue of Warsaw was detonated, the Ghetto entirely destroyed, with only the dividing walls still left standing.

The wind howled shrilly again, battering at the trees, leaves raining down around Erik as he walked, hauling his meager bit of food along. It was almost wholly dark, the moon gone and he dared not use his electric torch now to see by. It was a long, cold walk back to camp.

*

_1943, November, Devonshire, England_

Ruth stared stonily back at Sebastian from across the table, his pale eyes holding hers as he offered her an unpleasant smile over the rim of his teacup.

Standing all around in attendance beside the table, in the event that Sebastian should decide he required something, members of the kitchen staff waited in tense silence. Immediately refilling Sebastian’s cup when he set it down, dabbing at his chin when he gestured for a cloth.

Cain stared down at his tea, his face pale and shining with nervous sweat, while at Sebastian’s side, Sharon sat looking frightened and ill, her hand trembling as she stirred sugar into her own tea.

“Now, now, my darling,” Sebastian soothed, stroking a finger down Sharon’s cheek, making her flinch, “you really must learn to relax while at my table, after all I’m not going to bite.”

Sharon lowered her head and nodded and Sebastian smiled hideously again, turning his attention back on Cain and Ruth.

“I rather think I’m in the mood to be entertained,” he said, looking at Cain. “Cain, why don’t you get up and do something to amuse me.”

Cain raised his head, looking terrified. “What?”

“Get up,” Sebastian ordered. “There now, that’s a good lad. Now, strike this gentleman here,” Sebastian said cheerfully, gesturing to one of the kitchen staff.

Cain tottered slowly around the table, his cheeks reddening as he glanced at the man he was supposed to hit. “I – I can’t…”

“You can,” Sebastian said silkily, “and I would rather like to see it, go on now.”

Cain stopped in front of the man, not looking him in the eye, his right hand clenching into a fist. The man stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on something over Cain’s shoulder. Cain looked again to Sebastian.

“Please,” he said.

“Strike him,” Sebastian hissed.

Cain raised his hand, then lowered it again. “I can’t,” he wailed, taking a step back.

Sebastian shoved his chair back, rising to his feet, Cain stumbling back away from him. Sebastian eyed him in disgust but didn’t pursue him, instead he turned, striking the man himself. There was a sickening crack, the man crumpling to his feet as Ruth jumped up from the table and ran from the dining room, followed closely by Cain. The remaining members of the kitchen staff backing away from the table, Sharon suppressing a small squeak of fear, still seated in her chair, staring meekly down at her hands as Sebastian began to laugh.

*

_1944, August, Warsaw, Poland_

Everything was burning, the smell of charred flesh in the morning air terrible and thick, the smoke billowing out through the houses along the street black and suffocating.

Erik swung around in a circle in the middle of the street, reeling and half mad. The street littered with cables and wires, the debris of buildings, corpses, and himself in the wreckage of it all. He blinked his burning eyes against the smoke and ran.

Every house he passed on both sides of the street was on fire, the flames reaching out through the windows and doors. In some of the windows he could hear screaming, below in the streets there was crying, pleading, praying, and moans of pain.

At the corner of the street, near the remains of a barricade, he approached a small boy of about eight years old on the ground beside what Erik guessed were his parents’ remains, the boy shrieking in a delirious fit. Erik slowing back to a limping walk as he drew near.

All throughout the day there had been the constant sound of gunshots, exploding hand grenades, children screaming for their parents, and the endless, endless ricocheting patter of machine guns. Earlier that morning he’d seen members of the SS douse an elderly woman in petrol oil just before setting her aflame. Her body added to one of the heaps of corpses, piled up high, rotting in the courtyards behind the houses.

The boy looked to him to be about the age Ruth had been when he’d left England. He shuddered and swallowed against a wave of nausea, moving closer, grabbing the boy by the arm, ignoring the wailing, and the kicking, and biting as he drug the boy along with him, what little remainder of his conscience there was unwilling to leave the boy alone with the shattered corpses layered thick in the street.

The Warsaw Uprising, or Operation Tempest, had been organized by the Polish resistance Home Army as a final effort to liberate Warsaw from Nazi Germany. The uprising scheduled to coincide with the Soviet Red Army advancing to the Eastern suburbs of the city, the resistance’s goal to drive the German occupiers from the city. The second goal to liberate Warsaw before the arrival of the Soviets and to emphasize Polish sovereignty by giving power to the Polish Underground State before the Soviet-backed Polish Committee of National Liberation could take control. At five o’clock on August 1, a wave of explosions and the sound of automatic rifle fire signaled the start of the Uprising throughout the city. White and red flags rising along the streets and waving from windows and rooftops amidst the fire and smoke.

Erik almost wanted to laugh,  _almost_ , somewhere along the way he’d forgotten how to, shortly after the uprising began the Soviet advance had stopped short and everything since then had gone to shit. Everywhere there were SS and German soldiers who were always hunting, bringing with them flamethrowers, hand grenades, and machine guns. Planes flew continuously overhead and on the ground there were Tiger tanks firing heavy artillery, leaving rubble and torn apart corpses in their wake.

Erik’s power was sheer animal instinct anymore, lashing out from him uncontrollably as he fought for his own survival. Deflecting bullets and shrapnel away from himself, not always successfully, in desperate fear. Shortly after the uprising began, the Polish battalions,  _Zośka_  and  _Wacek_  had managed to seize the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto, liberating the Gęsiówka concentration camp, freeing close to 350 Jews, but by August 7, the German forces had strengthened with the arrival of tanks. There had been an explosion, shrapnel digging deep into Erik’s arm as he shielded his face from the worst. He’d lost his hearing for three days after, and there in the street, forcing the boy to move along, his ears still had not stopped ringing.

The boy had stopped fighting him, following after Erik with wide, horror-ridden eyes. There were body parts scattered everywhere around them, and approaching the next block over, they had to climb over a thicket of bodies to continue on down the street.

The Nazis killed at random, sometimes leaving the corpses in heaps in the courtyards, some freshly dead, others swollen and beginning to split. Men, women, children, most of them shot through the back of the head. Anyone wounded and not dead who gave any sign of life was quickly shot again, the bodies then doused with petrol oil and set on fire. Other times the bodies were simply left were they lay, piled up in the doorways of buildings or left where they had fallen in the street. During the night when the Nazis had gone, the citizens would try and bury the dead in anti-tank trenches before their return in the morning hours.

With the Soviet Red Army stopped, the defeat of the Polish resistance imminent, and Warsaw now almost completely destroyed, Erik had to get out.

Smoke and ash swirled around them, Erik’s hair, skin and tattered clothing turned completely grey. Halfway down the street, with the fire still burning around them, a gust of wind blew up a huge cloud of smoke, the world around them turning black. 

There was screaming again, growing louder and louder, closer to the place where Erik stood, unable to see anything, the dazed boy now clutching tight to his shirttail. He had to close his eyes, tears from the smoke running down his cheeks. There was a whining sound from some great machine, a flare of light amidst the black smoke, and then everything was exploding, rubble from the houses crashing down around Erik into the street. He was stumbling backwards, the boy still gripping his shirt when he was struck hard by something on the head and collapsed, his mind leaving his body behind.

_“Erik,” Edie called from the doorway, wiping her hands against her apron, “come inside before your dinner grows cold.”_

_Erik turned, the pale grey light of evening on him, the snow swirling and glittering through the crisp air. He grinned, abandoning his snowman and ran back across the yard._

_His father sat at the table, spooning mush into Ruth’s mouth, her tiny, chubby hands wrapping around the handle of the spoon, giggling and screeching to Jakob in delight._

_Erik plodded halfway across the kitchen toward the table, shrugging out of his coat when Edie caught him by his suspenders._

_“Your shoes, Erik,” she said exasperatedly, “you’re tracking snow all over the floor.”_

_Erik smiled up at her sheepishly, toeing off his shoes. At the table he crowded in to Jakob’s other side, waving his fingers at Ruth when she gurgled and reached for him. Jakob wrapped one arm around Erik’s shoulders, dragging him in closer, kissing the top of his head._

_Edie joined them, bringing potato latkes along with her, the smell filling the small space of the kitchen. In the center of the table a candle flickered happy and warm, reflected in Edie’s eyes as she stroked Erik’s cheek._

_The memory shifted, blood dripping from Erik’s hands and spattered over his face. His lungs heaving for air, a rock still gripped tight in his fingers as he stared down at the Nazi whose skull he’d just crushed in._

_The memory rippled and warped again, the Nazi still at his feet, the rock still in his hand, the blood still hot on his skin, but this time Charles was beside him, so painfully real Erik almost tried to reach out and touch him, stopping short when he realized he would leave blood smeared on Charles’ perfectly clean skin._

_“Oh, Erik,” Charles said sorrowfully, his eyes bright with tears, “what have they done to you?”_

Erik woke to the feel of someone prodding him hard in the shoulder, his eyes cracking open, his vision swimming as he tried to make out the tiny flickering glow hovering in front of his face.

“You’re alive,” an elderly man said, faintly surprised, withdrawing the match away from Erik’s face.

Erik tried to sit up and groaned, landing on his back again, his head pounding as he stared up at the stone ceiling. There was no light beyond the match held tight in the man’s hand. Erik guessed they were inside a cellar, the air stale and clogged with dust. From somewhere at his side he heard whimpering and carefully turning his head to see, found the small boy he’d found in the street burying his face against the shoulder of a young woman who looked nearly asleep.

“You have a rifle,” the man said, drawing back Erik’s attention.

Erik tried to sit up again but the man urged him back down.

“Yes,” Erik said, wincing from the pain, his right hand creeping up along his ribs, feeling along gently to find the wound he knew was there.

“Where is your company?” the man asked.

Erik’s hand stilled, his fingers probing gingerly, his breath hissing from him sharply. Two of his ribs were broken, cracked at the very least, he was sure of it. “My company, all save four of us, are dead. I was separated from the other three.”

The man nodded knowingly. “The city is lost.”

“Yes,” Erik said again.

“We have to get out.”

Erik shut his eyes, he was tired, so tired. “ _Yes_ ,” he whispered as the feeble light of the match died away, the black closing in around them all once more.

*

_1944, October, Gdańsk Bay, Poland_

The Old Town of Warsaw held for 63 long days, until the end of August, when the decision to retreat was made as the city was lost and nearly destroyed and the Germans had almost regained control. At the end of September Erik escaped back to the Great Kampinoska Forest along with a few other members of the Home Army by smuggling himself through the sewers. Those of the resistance who did not escape were either shot on sight or sent to POW camps all across Germany. What remained of the civilian population of Warsaw was expelled from the city to the transit camp  _Durchgangslager_  121 in Pruszków. Later sent on to either labor camps within the Third Reich or else shipped to the death camps or concentration camps, Ravensbrück, Mauthausen, or Auschwitz.

Erik was on his hands and knees, shuddering uncontrollably. He felt loose inside his own body, like if his skin weren’t holding him together he would scatter apart. Up above, the sky shone dark, a green cast to the charcoal grey clouds.

The seawater surged up across the beach, drenching Erik with the frigid waters of the Baltic Sea. Lightning flashing behind the clouds followed by a growl of thunder. The electromagnetic energy was heavy and thick in the air, sparking along Erik’s flesh, zapping along in his veins and bubbling against his tongue.

He shuddered hard again, wrapping his arms around himself, his knees digging deep into the wet sand as he leaned back on his haunches and glared up at the sky. A brilliant flash of lightning rending the sky apart, shining in Erik’s eyes, the thunder grumbling louder.

He thought again about just wading out into the water and letting the current take him. He’d just as soon die in the water anyway, let the sea have him, let it strip the flesh from his bones and let his soul wander free until it met again with its other half. The lightning cracked again, closer this time, the thunder warning him to get away. He could feel himself becoming hysterical, a sound that was half laughter and half a sob bursting past his teeth.

“Hol mich,” he screamed to the sky, daring God to end him. “Hol mich! Töte mich jetzt oder ich schwöre, nichts wird mich je mehr aufhalten.”

Erik felt it coming before it happened, his eyes going wide as a huge strike of lightning cracked and struck the water, blinding him with its fury.

He stumbled back up the beach, away from where the water grabbed for him on the sand, unsteady on his legs, his blood crackling in his veins. It started to pour then, washing away Erik’s tears as he fumbled around in his shirt for Charles’ feather.

“I miss you,” he said to the water, his voice little more than a croak, “I miss you so much.”

*

_1945, January, Kayserberg, France_

Erik had become a wolf, killing for the pleasure and the sport, not the hunger. He’d spent weeks now shadowing after one of the SS officers of the Treblinka Camp, Günter Vossler, whom he knew for a fact had been present at the time of his mother’s death.

The sky was the color of slate, the air chilled and sparkling as the snow fell, gusting and glittering across his path. Erik strolled casually down the lane, easy as could be, as though he belonged there and always had. His hair was combed back from his face, his clothing was fine, stolen two weeks ago from some gentleman back in town. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch, stolen along with the clothes, flicking open the case and checked the time, 6:18 pm, before snapping it closed.

Günter was staying in the village of Kayserberg, and truly it was lovely, Erik thought, not war ravaged, it belonged in a postcard. Günter would be having dinner right about now, Erik knew, touching his power gently to where his knife was sheathed. Ordinarily he would have used a pistol but this, _this_  was more personal.

He smiled falsely bright as a group of children ran past him, his smile falling away once they were at his back. He could see the small house, warmly lit, smoke puffing from the chimney. Erik didn’t pause in his stroll, his steps taking him right up the steps to the front door.

Günter would be right in the middle of his dinner, Erik would unhinge the door, stroll into the dining area, stab him, and stroll back out easy as you please. Only after reaching the door and wrenching it right off its hinges, marching through the front room and into the dining area, he found no one at all as he paused beside the table, his face set grimly. There was food laid out across the surface of the table, fruit, bread, and roast beef. Erik stared at it, shaking his head slowly as he backed away. There was no one there, he swept the room over again with his eyes, staring at a tea kettle steaming on the stove. Erik’s eyes widened, the knife gripped tight in his hand as he whirled around just in time to hear the sound of a shot being fired.

There was a narrow attic staircase in the next room, Günter standing at the foot of it, his pistol aimed at Erik.

Erik’s eyes opened wide in shock, his chest felt like it was on fire. He let go of the knife, sending it slicing through the air as Günter shot again. The knife cleaved into Günter’s chest, just as the second bullet from Günter’s pistol struck Erik’s left leg, just above the knee.

Erik’s own blood was splattered on the lovely, clean floor. He placed one hand on the table to steady himself, breathing in deep, before pushing himself forward to where Günter lay.

There was a rattling gasp, Günter staring up at Erik as he towered above him, staring down into his eyes, watching with grisly satisfaction as the life in them ebbed away. 

Yanking his knife free, wiping it against his trouser leg, he turned, taking a shaky step forward, his left leg buckling, and forced himself back out through the door hanging to one side, back out into the snow.

The wind picked up, sending the snow swirling through the air, the sun had sunk down far enough that the sky glowed pink beneath the cool grey of coming night. The air smelled clean in a way Erik couldn’t remember experiencing in a long, long time. The world around him sparkling and new.

He felt like there was knife lodged in his own chest each time he tried to draw air. His leg buckled again, landing him down on one knee. He suppressed a cry, closing his eyes as he trembled hard. He was bleeding everywhere, ruining his fine clothes, ruining the bright newness of the snow.

He was also burning everywhere, his body too hot, even in the snow, his vision sliding in and out of focus. Hazily he realized he was going to die. He had come all this way, survived all this time, only to die here.

He swallowed thickly, tasting metal, and forced himself back to his feet. If he was going to die then he could at least choose  _where_.

There was no one else out on the lane now, everyone safe and warm inside their little houses. He reached the lane’s end and tripped and staggered his way down a hill where he found the wrought iron gates of a cemetery, sorrowful and alone.

The gates were chained closed, Erik blinked slowly, clinging to the bars, and with his waning strength, urged the bars apart far enough for him to fall through.

Trip stumbling through rows of graves, deeper and deeper in until he was surrounded by towering evergreens and melancholic angels, their wings stretching straight towards the darkening winter sky.

He fell to his knees, blood pooling against the snow beneath him as deliriously he stared up at the angels.

_“He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars.”_

He recited the words to himself, imagining that it was Charles reading him to sleep as he lowered himself to the ground, curling on his side, his body burning from the inside out. He was panting, his throat aching and dry, his fingers scooping up a handful of snow and bringing it to his lips.

_“But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called -- called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.”_

Erik remembered moonlight and candlelight and how it had shimmered and shone over Charles’ beautiful naked skin, a canvas for the constellations of his freckles Erik wanted to map out with his hands.

_“Love, genuine passionate love, was his for the first time.”_

Charles, Erik decided, was not a swan at all, but one of the winged living creatures who sat at God’s feet and Erik, cast out, would never touch him. His hands were far too filthy.

_“He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone, by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostile environment where only the strong survive.”_

“Forgive me, Charles,” Erik whispered to the wind, “please forgive me.”

_“He must master or be mastered; while to show mercy was a weakness. Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time, he obeyed.”_

Erik had asked to be ended and so he was ended.

_“His muscles had wasted away to knotty strings, and the flesh pads had disappeared, so that each rib and every bone in his frame were outlined cleanly through the loose hide that was wrinkled in folds of emptiness. It was heartbreaking, only Buck's heart was unbreakable.”_

Erik’s fingers inched along the ground, to his once fine coat, crawling into the pocket where they withdrew Charles’ feather. His hand shook as he brought it close to his face, pressing it to his skin, a soft glide against his lips, until his fingers shook and the feather slipped free, the wind catching it and taking it away.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp stinging behind his eyelids, his fingers falling lax on the ground.

_Erik, you have to get up_.

Erik wanted to sob, he could hear Charles’ voice inside his head, he could  _feel_ him, determined and insistent, impossible, but there nonetheless. 

_Get up, you’re dying_.

“Es tut mir Leid Charles,” Erik rasped, his cheek pressing into the snow, “es tut mir so Leid.”

_Get up, Erik_.

“I didn’t mean the things I said.”

_Get up_.

“I miss you.”

_You’ll die_. Charles sounded angry with him. Erik’s head hurt, his body was burning, he couldn’t focus or see clearly, but he was aware enough to know that Charles was getting angry.

“Charles…”

_Get up!_

“It hurts,” Erik whimpered.

_Get up, Erik, please get up_.

“Do you think I’ll see Mama again?”

The wind blew Charles away, wrenching him from Erik just like the feather. The world grew murkier and murkier, the light bleeding away, leaving Erik alone in the grey.

_Be quick_ , he thought, closing his eyes, feeling the slow, waning pound of his heart,  _please be quick._

Snowflakes fell across his face, small bursts of chilled wet. There were thudding footsteps walking toward him across the ground. Erik opened his eyes sluggishly, seeing nothing but the small blurry spots of white as the snow continued to fall, his eyes widening just slightly as a ferocious beast rose up before him.

It bent over him, its claws reaching, though for all its ferociousness its claws were surprisingly gentle in their grasping of him and he wanted to laugh, his fever ravaged imagination had conjured forth a beast of all things and a blue one at that.

It lifted him easily, tucking him against its chest, its fur thick and soft and warm as it carried him back to the opening he had pried open in the bars of the gate.

Erik moaned, wanting both to get away and to burrow in closer against the warm fur.

“Be still,” the beast spoke, its voice a low growl.

“Have you come to kill me?” Erik croaked out.

The beast looked down at him, meeting his wide, damp eyes.

“No. Now be still.”

*

“Are you sure?” a woman’s voice asked.

“You didn’t see what I saw out there,” a man’s voice answered her. “He’s something, I don’t know, telekinetic maybe, I’m not sure, but something.”

Erik woke in increments, his memories scattered and fragmented. There was his mother, dabbing at his forehead with a cool cloth. He must be ill, he thought sluggishly before his fevered imagination took him away through a forest that was endlessly green.

There was a swan, its wings stretching wide, its feathers soft under Erik’s touch, and then there was Charles, threading his fingers through Erik’s hair, reading to Erik by flickering candlelight.

_“Woe of unnumbered generations”_

Or standing naked and shiningly wet, wings spreading down his back, crafted by God himself, every color of every sunrise Erik had ever seen trapped within the feathers.

“I can’t touch you,” Erik cried, “I swear, I’ll ruin you if I touch you.”

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles sighed, his eyes closed as he placed a tiny kiss against Erik’s jaw. “ _Erik_.” Charles’ wings enfolded Erik as he kissed him softly at first, carefully. Erik’s lips parted in answer and Charles surged forward, invading his mouth and Erik moaned.

“Lie still,” a voice said.

Charles broke away from him, his eyes still closed, his skin glowing translucent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” Erik said, gripping Charles’ arms, “no, stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Charles mouthed the words against his cheek, kissing him gently one last time in parting.

“ _Charles_!” Erik’s voice rang out but it wasn’t Charles’ touch or Charles’ voice that spoke to him now but a woman’s.

“Shhh,” she soothed, dabbing his face with a damp cloth, wiping away the sweat and the grime.

The stench of blood was lingering in the air and Erik groaned.

“Lie still,” the woman said gently, wiping his face again.

Erik cracked his eyes open to peer up at her. She looked young, her cheeks glowing pink, her blond hair pinned away from her face, her belly huge and brushing against Erik’s bare arm.

He was lying on a cot, flat on his back, his clothes gone and a sheet pulled down to his waist. The very heavily pregnant woman running the cloth back through his hair. There was yellowy light glowing behind her, the sound of someone coughing, the light dimmed down and a thin, lanky young man came into view beside the woman.

The man pushed his thick glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, glanced at the woman as she wrung out the cloth, and then back to Erik.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

Erik stared up at him then looked down the length of his own body, riddled with scars. The bullet lodged in his chest had been removed, the wound cleaned and stitched closed. Shifting his leg carefully, he found it to be the same.

“Erik,” he rasped.

The man nodded. “I’m Dr. McCoy,” he said. “You can call me Hank if you want, and this is my wife, Raven.”

The woman,  _Raven_ , Erik said to himself, smiled at him as she placed the cloth back against his forehead.

“You’re safe, Erik,” Hank said. “We’ve seen to your wounds, you don’t have to fear anything here.”

There were words on Erik’s tongue, questions, but his vision was swimming off again, Hank’s face blurring at the edges. Erik closed his eyes, and this time dreamt of nothing at all.

*

The next time Erik woke, the grey morning light was spilling in through the gauzy curtains. Erik realized he was at least three stories up, able to see the roof of the next building over, a small walkout balcony visible through the transparent curtains, covered in snow and tossed with birdseed. There were sparrows chirping on the railing and hopping along in the layer of snow, picking at the seed.

His eyes crept back around the room, it was quiet and he was alone, the light from outside shifting along the brick walls and across the polished wooden floor. His cot was situated against the wall in what he figured was the living area, a sofa situated across from him on a carpet rug and an empty fireplace in the corner.

In the other corner, facing the balcony there was a medium grand piano that Erik’s eyes lingered on for a long time, and sitting on its surface, planted in a glass container, were paperwhites, already blooming, their sweet smell floating to Erik from the other side of the room.

“You’re Jewish,” Hank said from behind him in the kitchen area, the sound of his voice making Erik jump, the words a matter-of-fact statement, nothing more.

Erik stared at him as he came closer. “How do you know that?”

Hank looked at him pointedly, cinching his dressing gown around his waist. “You’re circumcised for one thing.”

Erik glared at him, his teeth baring in vicious anger, readying himself to fight but Hank didn’t seem to notice or care, ignoring Erik as he turned to the small end table behind him. When he faced Erik again, he had a sewing thimble in hand, his eyes on Erik’s as he closed the distance between them again, setting the thimble carefully on Erik’s leg.

“Telekinetic?” Hank asked.

“What?” Erik was still glaring at him.

“Can you move things with your mind? Without touching them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erik growled.

“I saw you out there,” Hank said, leaning over the top of him, “bending the gate in the cemetery.”

“Hank?” Raven had joined them in the room, still dressed in her nightgown, her hand smoothing over her protruding belly while she looked at her husband questioningly.

Hank turned to her, seeing the look on her face. He glanced at Erik, who was staring at them both in defensive alarm, wondering if he should try and make a run for it, but certain he wouldn’t get very far with his injuries.

“It’s okay,” Raven said to him softly, “trust me. Trust me…”

Erik’s mouth fell open as Raven’s pale human flesh gave way to bright blue scales, her gentle blue-green eyes now a vivid yellow.

Erik jerked himself back on the cot, hitting the wall, wincing in pain as he jarred his injuries. Hank sighed heavily, coming to his side.

“I’m a shape-shifter,” Raven explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Erik stared and stared, he’d never seen anything like her before, and after his initial shock ebbed, he found himself thinking her eerily beautiful. “And you?” he asked Hank, after finding his voice. “Are you…” he gestured with his hand to Raven, “are you a shape-shifter too?”

Hank glanced at Raven before answering. “Something like that.”

Erik thought of Charles and how delighted he would be if he could see Raven’s blue scales before looking down at the thimble still resting on his leg.

“No,” he said.

“What?” Hank asked.

“I’m not telekinetic,” Erik said, “I can…it’s just metal that I can move.”

Hank nodded thoughtfully. “Can you show us?”

Erik picked the thimble up, rolling it between his fingers, his power weaving around it while he considered. Looking back up at Raven, still bright blue and watching him, he let go of the thimble. It stayed suspended in the air on its own and a wide smile spread over Raven’s face.

“You see,” Hank grinned at her.

“What are you going to do to me?” Erik asked, snatching the thimble back out of the air.

“Nothing,” Hank said seriously, “when you’re well enough, you can leave.”

*

“Nein,” Erik moaned, tossing on the cot fitfully. “Nein.”

His dreams had turned vicious, the shadows hunting him, always close, always watching. The snow was falling as he ran, his steps leaving a clear trail behind him for anyone to follow. Through the trees, he ran, until he burst out into a glen where a wolf was busy picking the bones of his swan clean. The blood so very bright against the perfect white of the snow, the swan’s wings spread wide. The wolf raised its head, baring its sharp teeth in a snarl, the fur of its face and throat stained red.

“Erik?”

“ _Nein_.”

“ _Erik_?”

A hand touched his shoulder and Erik jerked awake, ready to flee, his eyes darting around the room, searching for the danger, finding nothing but Hank, thin dressing gown wrapped around his lanky frame, his hair mussed, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

Erik was embarrassingly aware of the fact that he was shivering but was unable to stop, watching as Hank rummaged around in one of the kitchen cabinets, producing a bottle of whiskey before coming back to the living area, dragging a chair close to Erik’s bedside.

Hank opened the bottle, taking a long swig from it before passing it to Erik. “Drink that, you’ll feel better.”

Erik’s hand shook but he managed to raise the bottle to his lips, the liquid burning a path all the way to his gut.

“I understand what you’ve seen,” Hank said softly.

Erik lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing at Hank in the dim light. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen.”

“You’ve seen death.”

“And I’ve killed,” Erik said darkly, looking Hank in the eye. “Just before you found me I killed an SS officer.”

“I know,” Hank said, taking the whiskey bottle from Erik, swallowing another mouthful.

“Everyone I fought with is dead,” Erik continued.

“And your family?” Hank asked gently.

“My parents are also dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Hank whispered.

Erik could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he turned his head to gaze out at the balcony, at the snow twinkling under the starlight, the chimney of the next building sending out curls of dark smoke that whirled around amongst the falling snow. He blinked his eyes stubbornly.

“So am I.”

*

“How is it?” Erik asked, trying to keep the grimace of pain from showing on his face as Hank examined his leg.

Hank sighed before answering. “You’ll walk,” he said at last, “but there’s a possibility you may be lame in this leg, but only time will tell.”

Erik kept his face blank, watching Hank stand up, retrieving his medical bag from off the floor before walking across the room, down the hallway to wash up before dinner. He should consider himself lucky, he thought wearily, trying to force away his sour mood, his attention focusing back on Raven as she handed him a bowl of soup.

The snow was blowing hard outside but inside it was warm, the candles Raven had set on the table flickering back and forth. Erik followed the shadows moving along the brick walls to Hank’s piano in the corner, the light shimmering off its black surface. He turned back to Raven as she gave a small sound of surprise, her hand back on her belly.

“What is it?” Erik asked warily.

“They’re kicking,” she said, and Erik relaxed again.

“What will you name them?” Erik asked when she had settled herself on the sofa, Hank striding back into the room.

Raven smiled brightly. “Kurt, if it’s a boy. Irene, if it’s a girl.”

*

_1945, March, Kayserberg, France_

Erik stayed with Hank and Raven until the end of March, two days before his twenty-third birthday, sleeping on the cot in the living room, sitting on the balcony in the cold morning, watching the sun rise. When all his walls had crumbled beneath the weight of a nightmare turned dream, Raven was there to soothe him and keep him from lingering too long in the debris and wreckage of the horrors he had seen.

She had her baby in February, delivered by Hank in their own bedroom rather than take her to a hospital. Hank stumbling out into the living room where Erik was waiting on the sofa with a dazed look on his face when it was over.

Raven had given birth to a son who was every bit as blue as his mother, with a prehensile tail that curled around her arm when she held him, his eyes large and bright. Erik thought he was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

Hank was ecstatic, but worried, unsure of how he would ever secure a future for his son in the world.

“We shouldn’t have to hide,” Erik heard Raven whisper to Hank in the kitchen late one night when they thought he was asleep.

Her only answer from Hank was a deep, wearied sigh.

The next morning Erik sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, seeing Raven standing in front of the balcony doors, her blue scales on full display, drenched in the morning light while she held Kurt to one breast.

“Would you like to hold him?” she asked, seeing that he was awake.

“No, that’s all right, I’m…”

“Here,” she said, handing Kurt to him.

Kurt stared up at Erik, his small tail curling around one of Erik’s fingers.

“See,” she smiled, “he likes you.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” Erik said.

Kurt was small, fragile, and pure, and Erik was gutted, scarred, and utterly changed. His hands that his mother had always said belonged to an artist were now the hands of a killer. Erik looked at Raven, shifting Kurt awkwardly in his arms.

“I have to fix breakfast,” Raven said, still smiling, “you can hold him. You’ll be fine.”

Erik watched her in the kitchen for a time, Kurt’s tail still coiled around his finger while he made small, cooing noises. Until he finally felt easier about it and drifted back over to the balcony, seating himself in a growing patch of sunlight, looking down on the cobbled street below.

It was quiet beyond the sounds of Raven moving around in the kitchen area, and slowly, softly, cradling Kurt in his arms, while Kurt gazed at him innocently and curiously, Erik began to sing again for the first time since Sean’s death.

_Al haderech etz omed tzamarto tashu'ach ,_   
_Azavuhu tziporav le'anchot haru'ach._   
_El darom uma'arav ve'ulai mizrachah,_   
_Rak haru'ach telatef tzamarto sheshachah._   
_El imi ani omer: na hak'shivi/shim'i li, ima,_   
_Af ani tzipor ehye vechanaf arimah._   
_El ha'etz a'ufah li, lo anod mimenu,_   
_Atzayetz lo shir aliz va'anachamehu."_

Kurt cracked something open inside Erik’s chest and that night he began to draw again, using spare paper Hank had in his study since his sketchbook had long since been lost. Sketches of Raven with Kurt, the people he’d met along the way, his parents, Ruth, and finally, a swan.

Not long after, early one morning, he’d touched his fingers to the keys of Hank’s piano.

“Do you play?” Hank asked.

Once upon a time, Erik had dreamed of attending University and the Chopin Academy of Music, but Warsaw, along with the Music Academy had been razed to the ground.

“I did,” Erik answered, sounding far away. “It’s been a while.”

Hank pressed him to play something and, trembling slightly, Erik lowered himself to the bench, his fingers settling into the keys, the mournful and agonized sound of Chopin’s Funeral March rising up around him. A lament for his people and the fragments of his life.

He noticed Raven staring at him, Kurt gurgling nonsense in her arms, and paused, breaking off in the middle of the piece. He could smell the spring air floating in through the open balcony doors, and finally, in the company of new life after so much death, Erik placed his fingers back against the keys and this time began to play Chopin’s Tristesse.

*

_1945, April, Devonshire, England_

Charles bobbed with the rise and fall of the sea’s swell, coasting along with the current. Both the sky and the sea were dark, clouds layered thick above him, an easy, light patter of falling rain rolling off his feathers.

He had flown to the sea each and every day, storm or not, to soothe and comfort himself, as in his mind the sea and Erik were one and the same. Treacherous and violent, angry and rough, but oh,  _oh_ , when the sea was calm and the light stretched across its surface, it proved too beautiful for words. A haven and a balm for his soul.

And if Erik was the sea then Charles was the rock face he would break himself upon.

The sky began to glimmer periwinkle and rose along the horizon as Charles stretched his wings out wide, readying himself to take flight, soaring through the rain, back to the clearing where he landed down on the lake.

As night fell and Charles transformed back into himself again, he sat on the chapel stairs, his eyes closed, stretching his power far beyond the forest as he had done now night after night. He was skimming along the surface of the sea when his eyes slowly opened again.

Erik’s mind was an electrical storm out in the open water, crackling and furious.

Charles stood, stepping off the chapel stairs and into the rain, pushing his way through the forest until he came to the tallest tree. Climbing up the slick, mossy boughs until he reached the top where he could see the river wending its way through the dark to the sea.

Tipping his head back, the rain plastering his hair to his face, he began to laugh and then cry with relief.

*

_1945, May, London, England_

Erik stayed in London for nearly a month, sleeping long hours in his single bed in a tiny flat over a pub, a large crack running the length of the ceiling that rained dust down on him whenever the tenant above him walked across their floor, the wallpaper faded and peeling in the corners.

He was too afraid to face his sister, to tell her that he had failed, and too ashamed to face Charles after everything that had happened between them. Too much time had passed, too much had happened to Erik. He wasn’t the same person anymore.

Sometimes he would limp along the streets, taking in the destruction of the Blitz, the crumbled buildings, the morning light placing it all on gruesome display as he went out in search of canvas and paint.

He couldn’t quite decide exactly what shade of blue Charles’ eyes were, if they were truly as blue as his dreams led him to believe. He’d spent entire nights laying paint down on canvas, a tumult of pigments and hues, grafting flesh over Charles’ bones, a starburst of freckles across his skin. Ensnaring Charles in watercolors and bleeding acrylics, the ghost of wings stretching down his back, brushing the surface of the lake as he stood, caught in a shard of moonlight.

His walls were lined with sketches, Charles’ face staring out at him through grey lines and soft shadows, watching over and keeping Erik company while he slept. He dreamt fitfully, always feeling like he was only ever half asleep, the presence of something he couldn’t see but desperately longed to touch lingering with him in the shadows always, beckoning him to leave with the morning sun. Until one day he could no longer stand it, packing his things before sitting on the roof one last time to watch the sky brighten into sapphire and then finally, gold.

*

_1945, June, Devonshire, England_

Erik left London on June 1, the train dropping him at the railway station. He had sent no word of his arrival and so there was no car waiting for him, the sun high as he followed the river cutting through the land, leading him back to the countryside and to the Markos' manor house surrounded by a haunted, mossy forest.

He reached the narrow lanes, the sun lower now but still bright, as he slowly followed the craggy path down to the seashore. Ribbons of light unspooling across the water’s surface, dancing purple and pink as the water frothed onto the shore, but the beach was deserted and Charles was nowhere to be found.

He waded chest high into the cold water, letting the waves crash into him, washing him clean, a mikvah in its most ancient form. He both laughed and sobbed, letting the water strike him in the face again and again before dragging himself back to land, wringing out his clothes as he made his way to the lane that would lead him back to his sister, and to Charles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mikvah (to put it very simply) is a bath where a ritual of purification is performed. 
> 
>  
> 
> German translations:
> 
> “Hol mich.” “Hol mich! Töte mich jetzt oder ich schwöre, nichts wird mich je mehr aufhalten.” = “Take me.” “Take me. Kill me, or I swear to you now I will not be stopped.”
> 
> “Es tut mir Leid Charles, es tut mir so Leid.” = “I’m sorry, Charles. So sorry.”
> 
>  
> 
> The italicized quotes Charles reads in Erik’s memory are from Jack London’s The Call of the Wild.
> 
>  
> 
> [Jewish lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1PfvwDdVWU)
> 
> Translation from Yiddish song “Oyfn Veig Shteyt A Boym”
> 
> AL HADERECH ETZ OMED 
> 
> SHIR AL ETZ 
> 
> (Hebrew) (Lyrics: Naomi Shemer orig. Itzik Manger (Yiddish))
> 
> Al haderech etz omed tzamarto tashu'ach ,  
> Azavuhu tziporav le'anchot haru'ach.  
> El darom uma'arav ve'ulai mizrachah,  
> Rak haru'ach telatef tzamarto sheshachah.  
> El imi ani omer: na hak'shivi/shim'i li, ima,  
> Af ani tzipor ehye vechanaf arimah.  
> El ha'etz a'ufah li, lo anod mimenu,  
> Atzayetz lo shir aliz va'anachamehu."
> 
> Yam tari tari - tari tari,  
> Tari tari tari - tari tari tar. 
> 
> Yam tari tari - tari tari,  
> Tari tari tari - tari tari tar.
> 
> Az imi mochah/bochah dim'ah: "ben yakir haben li,  
> Al ta'uf levad bakor shema titz'tanen li"  
> "Al tiv'ki, imi, chaval al me'or einaich  
> Kach vachach ehyeh tzipor ve'efros knafaim"  
> Sachah ima uvochah: "Itzik, otzari li  
> Lefachot kach beged cham shetihyeh bari li.  
> Ardalaim shetin'al, k'shor tza'if al oref -  
> Oya li ve'alelai, ko kasheh hachoref." 
> 
> Yam tari... 
> 
> "Gufiyah chamah til'bash, al na titparche'ach,  
> O chalilah bein metim tavo lehitare'ach"  
> Kamah li kasheh achshav, ech kanaf arimah?  
> Mah kalah hi hatzipor, mah kaved lev ima.  
> Az be'etzev achayech, ima, el einaich  
> Lo nat'nah ahavatech li lif'ros k'nafaim.  
> Al haderech etz omed, tzamarto tashu'ach  
> Azavuhu tziporav le'anchot haru'ach .
> 
> Yam tari...
> 
> English translation:
> 
> ON THE ROAD A TREE STANDS 
> 
> SONG ABOUT A TREE
> 
> There is a tree on the road with a bent top  
> the birds have flown for the cries of the wind.  
> To south and west and maybe east,  
> only the wind strikes the bent top.  
> I tell my mother: Listen, mum,  
> I will be a bird, and lift my wings  
> I will fly to the tree, not somewhere on my own  
> I will sing a happy song for him, and console him 
> 
> Yam tari tari - tari tari,  
> tari tari tari - tari tari tar.
> 
> Yam tari tari - tari tari,  
> tari tari tari - tari tari tar. 
> 
> Mother cries a tear: My dear son,  
> Don't you fly alone in the cold, you may get lost (?)"  
> Mother, don't cry, it's a shame on your eyes  
> And anyhow, I'll be a bird, and spread my wings.  
> Mother sighs and cries: "My Itzak, my darling,  
> Wear at least a warm cloth, so you don't catch a cold.  
> Put this shawl on, a good hat on your head -  
> Oh me o my, how difficult is the winter" 
> 
> Yam tari......
> 
> "Also take this warm singlet, don't wander around,  
> And for God's sake, don't visit the dead"  
> I feel heavy now, how shall I lift my wings?  
> It's so easy for the bird, but so difficult for the mother.  
> Then, for the sorrow and the pain in your eyes, mother,  
> Your love disabled me, forbad me to spread my wings.  
> There is a tree on the road with a bent top  
> the birds have flown for the cries of the wind.
> 
> Yam tari...
> 
>  
> 
> [Frédéric Chopin's Piano Sonata No 2 in B flat minor, Funeral March ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hZY5DBmgC_A)
> 
> [Chopin-Etude no. 3 in E major, Op. 10 no. 3, "Tristesse"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmQBFLJAIcY)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to [chazstity](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/) for creating an extremely beautiful and moving art set for chapter 8 seen [here](http://chazstity.tumblr.com/post/125388793841/words-cant-explain-the-love-i-have-for). To [lynnfinne](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/) for the new stunningly gorgeous art set seen [here](http://lynnfinne.tumblr.com/post/125175268830/fic-rec-one-more-time-the-swan-several-weeks-ago). And to [Mellifluous Dreams (Eeverith)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eeverith/pseuds/Mellifluous%20Dreams) for the incredibly beautiful cover/poster art seen [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4570182/chapters/10407504). <333
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: character death and violence.

Merry, golden lights of little houses blinked awake in the shadowiness at the foot of the hills as Erik limped along down the lane, mud and sand clinging to his shoes and the sodden hems of his trouser legs, seawater dripping from his hair. His hand gripping tight to the handle of the suitcase Hank had gifted him with after sparing some of his own clothing and enough money to see Erik back to England.

_“Go home, Erik,” Hank had said gently after discovering him for the second week in a row staring wistfully out at the world from his balcony perch, a perfect metal sphere, what was once a sewing thimble, rolling around in the palm of his hand, the setting sun glowing red across his face._

_“My home is burnt,” Erik said somberly, “and I will never go back.”_

_The soil of that land was full with the bones of his people._

_“You know that’s not what I meant.”_

_Erik watched as an elderly woman wrapped in a draping shawl passed beneath him on the cobbled street below, a shower of pale pink petals raining down on her as the wind touched at the blooming cherry blossom tree in the neighboring courtyard._

_Of course Hank knew, Erik thought, his hand clenching tight around the sphere, soothingly warm from the heat of his skin, he and Raven both. Erik had been calling Charles’ name out in his sleep for weeks._

Erik’s steps were slow, his left leg still troubling him even months after Hank and Raven had removed Günter’s bullet. Hank had warned him that it might always be so.

He knew he was lucky as far as injuries went, he could still walk and the bullet that had entered his chest hadn’t killed him, though it had been a near thing.

The air around him smelled like the sea and all along the narrow lane there was wild bishop’s lace and lavender-blue chicory flowers. Erik inhaled deeply, ignoring the dull ache of his chest as his lungs expanded, his steps slowing for reasons that had nothing to do with his lame leg as he hobbled closer to the Markos’ manor house.

_“We’re not the first you’ve met, are we?” Raven asked him one night while seated on the sofa, Kurt fast asleep in her arms._

_Erik looked up from his sketching and met her bright yellow eyes and shook his head. “The mother of the family I was sent to live with in England has a son who can read minds and communicate without having to speak...I think he understood better than I did what I was, what I am. We became friends, for a time anyway.”_

_“He’s a telepath,” Hank said with certainty, turning the page of his newspaper._

_“Telepath?” Erik questioned._

_“A person capable of transmitting information to another without the use of physical interaction or any other known sensory channels,” Hank said. “You know I met one once while I was studying in Paris, a woman, not overly friendly. She shared a bit of her abilities with me after she caught me dangling by my toes from the university’s senior common room chandelier.”_

_“Hank.” Raven shook her head, her lips curving into a small smile that Hank kissed chastely before continuing._

_“It was very late and I wanted to stretch out my feet for a moment. They get cramped up being wedged into shoes all day long.”_

_Erik glanced down at Hank’s bare feet, his long prehensile toes curling and uncurling against the carpet rug._

_“I didn’t think there’d be any harm in that,” Hank said. “She sensed me though and came to see for herself. It was a rather unpleasant feeling, I remember her presence in my head being very cold. Does your friend feel like that?”_

_“No,” Erik said, “Charles doesn’t feel like that at all. Charles is…Charles is warm.”_

Common blue butterflies flitted back and forth from one side of the lane to the other, the wind rustling around in the leaves, sounding to Erik like whispers.  _So you have returned at last_.

He turned around the bend and the Markos’ immense castle-like house rose into view, the sinking sun shedding light all down its shining front windows.

He slowed to a stop in the middle of the lane, setting his suitcase down at his feet as his heart sped up with unwelcome anxiety, beating hard against his chest.

His sister, his sweet, lovely sister, he calculated for the hundredth time now how old she would be.  _Thirteen_ , his mind reeled,  _fourteen_  in just two weeks. He realized belatedly that he had brought nothing for her birthday.

He wondered what sort of person she was growing into and if she had stopped thinking of him, if she had given him up for dead or if she missed him still, and what might she think of him once he was forced to admit to her that he had failed. Their parents were murdered, their home destroyed, and every facet of their world overturned.

He made himself breathe in then out, soothed by the seawater air, until his heart slowed and he reached down for his suitcase and started forward once more. His eyes moving past the Markos’ great house to the forest that encompassed it.

_“You must have been very close, you and your friend,” Hank commented casually after waking Erik from one of his crueler nightmares, Charles’ name still on his tongue._

_Erik was breathing harshly, the remnants of his dream fading as he tried to blink into focus Hank illuminated by the soft lamplight, noticing as he did Hank’s eyes lingering on the drawing he’d left half-finished on the coffee table; Charles, more angelic than human. He shifted awkwardly on the cot as his face began to burn._

_“It’s none of my business,” Hank answered for him quietly, seeing that he was embarrassed. “Forgive my curiosity,” he murmured, turning off the lamp, hiding Erik’s flushed face from sight. “All is well, try and go back to sleep now.”_

Erik steeled himself and forced his pace quicker down the lane leading into the Markos’ gravel stone drive. It was completely unchanged, Erik’s entire world had blown apart and the Markos’ house, the gardens, the manor front pond, were exactly the same.

He thought suddenly of Kurt, hard eyed and sneering, and imagined him complaining over the hardships of living in England while the country was at war. His stomach twisting itself into familiar knots as now he pictured Sharon, still wine-drenched, still hunting for the thing that would make her happy but searching for it in all the wrong places. And finally he thought of Cain, who would be nearly twenty one years old, Erik realized, no longer the irritating fifteen year old Erik had last seen in 1939. He wondered if Cain had gentled at all or if he had merely become a younger version of his volatile father.

He was on the drive in front of the house, his steps slowing again as his mind whirled with nervous thoughts. What the hell did he think he was doing, coming back here? What was he going to do? Order Ruth out of the house that had likely become her home? And Charles, what if he had no interest in seeing Erik again after the pain Erik had caused him and the stretching of time between them?

He was on the garden path now, Sharon’s scarlet roses in full bloom, their cloyingly sweet smell drifting over him as he neared the back entrance. He stood at the door, setting his suitcase down, and looked off towards the forest again. Not giving himself a chance to second-guess, he raised his hand and pressed in on the doorbell.

He didn’t have to wait long, his breath shuddering in and out as he listened to the sound of someone moving around just on the other side of the door before it opened to reveal an older woman Erik had never seen before, looking wearied and slightly cross to see him standing there wet and disheveled. She adjusted her apron as she raked him over with her eyes, up and down, before peering close at his face.

“You look a right mess,” she said with obvious irritation. “You’re also late, Fergus said you would be here yesterday, the Master’s positively livid.

Erik stared back at her dumbly, feeling very confused, his hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides.

“Well?” She crossed her arms. “Do you want me to lead you in so you can take a look?”

“Take a look at  _what_?” Erik asked slowly.

“ _The toilets_ ,” she said exasperatedly, glaring at him. “Fergus said he had someone new working for him but he failed to mention they were dimwitted.”

Erik’s anger sparked, hardening his words as he said, “I’m not here to see to the toilets.”

She eyed him warily before taking notice of the suitcase at his feet, her gaze flicking back to his face as she made to throw the door closed on him. Erik caught it and shoved himself forward into the doorway.

“There aren’t any handouts to be had here,” she said quickly, trying to push him back out.

“I’m not here for a damn handout,” he growled. “I’m here for my sister.”

She paused, her hands still pressing on him, “Sister?”

“Ruth,” he said.

Her hands fell from him while she peered once again at his face. “Ruth is your sister?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Erik bit out.

“But you’re supposed to be de –  _oh_ … _oh_ ,  _my_ …”

“Where is she?” Erik asked, ignoring the woman’s shock.

She was still looking at him in disbelief but at his question she managed to compose herself. “The lady of the house has taken Miss Lehnsherr into town to add the final touches to her costume for this evening.”

Erik looked back over his shoulder to the empty drive in disappointment, his head starting to ache. First toilets, now costumes.

“ _Costume_?” he asked.

“For the Master’s masquerade ball.”

Erik sighed and gave a humorless smile. “Kurt always was one for a party.”

“ _Kurt_?  _Kurt Marko_?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at him.

Erik frowned at her tone and nodded.

She shook her head. “Kurt Marko died two years ago, tonight’s ball is in celebration of the lady of the house’s engagement to her new fiancé.”

At this Erik’s eyes widened. Kurt was dead and Sharon had a new fiancé. He could almost feel something fluttering around on the outskirts of his thoughts, hear it whispering to him faintly,  _You know_ ,  _you already know_.

“Sharon’s fiancé?” Erik asked, hoping he was wrong. “Who is it?”

“Sebastian Shaw is the new master of the house.”

“ _And Charles_?” Erik asked quickly. “ _Where is Charles_?”

She took a nervous step away from him again as his eyes had gone wild. “Charles?” she repeated in confusion and Erik felt his stomach sink. But then, “ _Oh_ ,  _you mean the lady of house’s son at university_? I’ve not met him, he’s –”

Erik turned without another word, willing his legs to carry him as quickly as they could toward the woodland garden.

“Wait,” she called after him, “shall I alert the Master of your arrival then?”

_“What are we?” Erik asked Raven while he watched her tickle the underside of Kurt’s tiny foot._

_“I’m not really sure,” Raven answered, still grinning at her son, “I don’t know how or why we are what we are…Hank’s been researching it when he can, but he’s not certain. I don’t know if he ever will be.”_

_Erik stared at Kurt, at the faint designs swirling across his blue skin, his luminous eyes, his pointed ears, his three fingered hands and his feet that split into two toes, his small tail that was whipping back and forth happily._

_He thought of the night he heard Raven whisper ‘We shouldn’t have to hide.’_

_“What if there was some place where people like us could live away from everyone else, where we could be left alone and just be ourselves?”_

_“Some kind of separate utopia where nothing ever bad happens?” Raven asked._

_Erik nodded._

_Raven stared intently at her son for a long considering moment before meeting Erik’s eyes. “I’m not going to pretend to know what you’ve been through, but I can see how easy it might be to wish for something like that after…after everything you’ve seen. But we’re not all good, you know. We’re people just like everyone else, we’re flawed just like everyone else, and some of us are more dangerous, more intent on harm, than others, no matter how much you may wish to believe otherwise. You need to remember that.”_

Erik broke past the tree line, clumsily shoving branches from his path. The forest more tangled than he remembered, ivy vines catching on his feet and twigs grabbing and scratching at him as he passed. The dark spread out everywhere below the canopy, leaving shadows hiding in the hollows of trees and moving just beyond the peripheral of his vision, trailing after him as moved closer and closer to the clearing.

In the branches high overhead a flock of starlings suddenly took to their wings, squawking as they went. Erik stilled, his hands brushing against the springy, damp moss, the musty scent of it thick in the air. The sunlight was dwindling, disappearing through the gaps above, the shadows around him growing bolder.

“Charles!” he called out, pushing forward again, nearly sending himself into the dirt as the foot of his lame leg was snagged by the crisscrossing roots of the trees. “Charles!”

He waited, hoping to feel Charles’ presence, something, anything, but when nothing answered him he pressed on until at last he found his way to the clearing where he staggered to a halt.

The light hadn’t left him yet, its last feeble rays touching the rippling surface of the dark lake and allowing him to see once again the stone chapel and its forgotten graveyard, no different than the day he had told Charles goodbye.

_You could stay with me_ , Charles used to whisper in the night when he thought Erik was asleep.

He neared the rocky shore of the lake, searching everywhere with his eyes for Charles, but nothing moved and still he did not feel Charles’ presence.

At the edge of the lake he stared down into the water, his face reflected back to him looking harried and worn.

_Where are you?_  Erik thought hopelessly, looking away from himself.

As if in answer to his unspoken question, a shadow stretched across the lake, and Erik looked skyward to find a swan in the purple twilight air above him, its wings heaving as it descended gracefully into the clearing, landing down softly on the water.

Erik took a step closer, the toe of his shoe wetted by the lake water lapping against the rocks as he looked at the swan in puzzlement. Its feathers were a shining black, its bill bright red, broken only by a band of white at the tip. As it turned slowly in the water, drifting closer, its neck arched into an S, Erik saw that the swan’s eyes were the same startling red.

He didn’t know what to do, his swan was white, this one was black, but it was coming closer, intent on him and utterly unafraid.

“ _Charles_?” he questioned it softly. The sun had nearly gone and still no white swan appeared.

The light was fading into grey, the swan floating to the shallows of the shore, rocking slightly with the water, watching him with one red eye. Erik made to kneel down beside it, to get closer, when to his shock, despite it not yet being dark, the swan began to change.

Its wings stretched out, its grey-black legs and body lengthening, transforming into the shape of a human.

Erik stumbled backward, half frightened but completely enthralled. The swan creature stood in the shallows facing him, its black feathers beginning to drop away into the water, slowly uncloaking the pale, perfect flesh underneath.

Erik watched as the legs transformed into curving calves, his eyes drifting up to the knees, then higher still as the feathers continued to fall, exposing sturdy thighs and a thick cock nestled in a thatch of dark curls.

Erik tore his gaze away, his eyes following the path of the shedding feathers as they uncovered sharp, angled hips and the smooth plane of a belly before climbing up gently sloping ribs. The feathers falling faster now, away from the chest, baring pink budded nipples to the summery air, higher to winged collarbones, and up the column of a white throat before finally unmasking Charles’ face.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik’s voice cracked as he took a heedless step forward. Charles’ red lips curving upward into a smile as he regarded Erik serenely. His dark wings remaining for a drawn out moment before they too fell away, the water surrounding Charles now covered with black feathers. 

_His swan had been white_ , Erik’s mind whispered to him in warning, but it was hazy and distant and easily forgotten with the black feathers stripped away, leaving Charles naked and vulnerable looking, standing close enough to touch.

A dreamlike fog descended over him, clouding his thoughts as he looked Charles over greedily, his eyes skimming all across the new angles and planes of Charles’ body, scattered with freckles just begging for Erik’s touch. Charles’ hair was longer now, curling beneath his ears, his eyes bright and an even deeper blue than Erik remembered. He was terribly, terribly beautiful, and Erik was bewitched.

“What happened to you?” Erik managed breathlessly. “It’s not dark yet, and you’re… _different_.”

Charles smiled slow and secretive, staring at Erik like a wolf to its prey as he held out his hand, smiling wider as Erik took it without hesitation, allowing Charles to pull him straight into the lake. Charles’ cold fingers sliding against Erik’s palm, crawling up his hand to fetter tight around his wrist.

Erik’s shoes and trousers were soaked all over again, the cold lake water shocking as the sea had been, rising darkly up around him, slapping against his thighs as Charles tugged him in deeper. He was still smiling at Erik, his eyes glittering.

With the hand not shackled by Charles’ grip Erik tentatively touched Charles’ face, cupping his cheek as he had done shortly after they’d first met, smoothing his thumb across the bone. He felt close to tears, his eyes stinging, wanting desperately to pull Charles into his arms, to bury his face against Charles’ hair, to move backward through time and take back everything he had said, for everything in the years between to be wiped clean.

He stroked his thumb down gently to the corner of Charles’ mouth. Charles turning sweetly into the touch, his eyes half lidded, reaching for Erik’s other wrist until he had manacled them both with his chilled, wet fingers.

Erik felt entranced, light as air as Charles took another step deeper, bringing Erik along with him, until the water was hitting Erik’s chest, making him shudder, the warmth of the day lessened, the light in the clearing nearly faded.

It rose higher still as Charles took another step, Erik’s mind growing murky as the water, Charles’ smile spreading wider, baring his teeth.

_Get away_ , Charles’ voice demanded inside his head, his words sounding distant and strange, Erik blinking at him in confusion.

“What?” Erik whispered slowly.

Charles didn’t answer him, though his head inclined slightly and his eyes narrowed.

_Dammit, Erik, GET AWAY!_ Charles’ words cut through the fog inside his head, diminishing some of the slow haziness he felt.

He looked at Charles warily, unease prickling down his spine as he tested the grip Charles had on his wrists, Charles’ fingers tightening in response.

_You’ll be killed!_  Charles’ voice shrieked, dispelling the fog over Erik’s mind once and for all.

“ _Charles_  – ” Erik said in a panic, catching one last look at the dwindling grey light just before he was forced underwater.

It was dark and cold below the surface and deathly quiet. The hands holding him under unshakable as he tried helplessly to pry himself away, his legs pressing down into the silt as he fought to push himself back up, the hands snapping to his shoulders, shoving him down harder. 

The knife that he kept on himself at all times now was singing to him, urging him to set it to use. Wrenching it free, he sent it to slice at the imposter’s hands, but his knife seemed to have no effect, the imposter snatching it with one hand, flinging it away. Its metal still singing to Erik as it sank into the dark out in the middle of the lake.

Erik’s chest ached unbearably, his lungs growing tight and beginning to burn, begging for air as he dug his fingers into the hands holding him, raking across the skin but the grip on him did not ease. He began to panic, thrashing around below the water when he suddenly felt Charles’ presence for the first time since setting foot in the clearing, wrapping itself all around him, strong and incredibly furious.

There was something happening up above, the hands holding Erik loosening enough for Erik to wrest himself away and surge back to the surface. Gasping and choking, blinking the water from his eyes just in time to see Charles, his white feathered swan, skidding the surface of the lake after being hurled away by Sebastian who was staring after Charles in disgust.

Erik stumbled backward, staring at Sebastian in horror, his skin crawling. Sebastian had finally let his mask fall, standing before Erik naked and seething, and Erik wanted to be sick.

“You look dreadful, Erik,” Sebastian smiled viciously, turning back to face him, “whatever is the matter?”

Erik couldn’t speak yet, panting for air, his lungs still burning as he tried to get away from Sebastian’s advancing steps, to reach the shore. He fell backward into the water as Sebastian made a quick move for him, but Charles had righted himself and returned, beating Sebastian with his powerful wings and pulling at his hair with his bill before retreating higher out of Sebastian’s reach.

Sebastian whirled around, reaching for Charles, his face twisting. “ _You!”_  he snarled. “When I get ahold of you I’m going to pluck you and roast you on a spit.”

Charles trumpeted loudly in answer.

“Perhaps I’ll serve you for dinner,” Sebastian mused as Charles continued to trumpet.

Erik scrambled back to shore, falling on his hands and knees as he choked up the cold lake water he’d swallowed, his eyes focusing on the mossy rocks under his hands. The light was nearly gone, Charles would change, and in the moment of his transformation would be utterly helpless. Erik needed to get Sebastian away from him before he did. He gripped a rock tight, standing to his feet and turning, hurling the rock hard, cracking it against Sebastian’s skull.

Sebastian froze, slowly turning to face Erik, staring at him disbelievingly, his lips curling back from his teeth in a snarl as he started for Erik, his stride swift as he slapped away another rock meant for his face.

Erik’s eyes widened, his footing slipping and sliding as he backed away, the rocks didn’t deter or slow Sebastian at all, his hands reaching for Erik, snagging hold of his shirt front when Charles plunged low again, battering Sebastian with his wings. Sebastian releasing Erik once again, this time transforming himself into an owl and following Charles into the air.

Erik watched them helplessly as they rose higher and higher before he heard his knife whispering to him from deep within the lake. His eyes sweeping across the surface as he held out his hand for it, calling it up out of the murky water, looking skyward again as Charles made a terrible and pained sound, his white feathers stained red from Sebastian’s cruel talons and sharp beak.

Sebastian sank deep into Charles’ flesh, hanging onto him as together they plummeted into the lake.

The knife erupted above the surface, straight to Erik’s hand, his fingers curling around its hilt as Sebastian reemerged from the water, one hand closed tight around Charles’ slender neck. The blade of Erik’s knife shivered as Sebastian took a step toward him, his sharp grin back in place as he held Charles out like a prize before him.

Charles struggled against his hand, flapping his wings and writhing, blood oozing from the slashes across his body, dripping into the dark water, low sounds breaking past his bill as he jerked his head back and forth.

“Really, Erik,” Sebastian said, glancing at the knife in his hand, “what do you intend to do with that?”

“ _Let him go_ ,” Erik growled.

“He’s mine,” Sebastian replied, “and I don’t let go of what’s mine. Did you think that you could just come waltzing back and take one of my possessions and I wouldn’t haven’t something to say about it?” His fingers squeezed mercilessly tight around Charles’ neck, Charles’ wings beating harder in response.

The knife sang to him, pitiless and cold, wanting him to send it into Sebastian’s flesh.

“ _Try it_ ,” Sebastian hissed, as if reading his thoughts. “ _What are you afraid of_?  _Do it_.”

It hadn’t had any effect on Sebastian when he’d held Erik underwater, Erik reminded himself, his fingers curling tighter around the hilt, not letting go, not yet, not when Sebastian wanted him to.

“ _Coward_ ,” Sebastian sneered, catching hold of one of Charles’ thrashing wings in annoyance. “Oh, Charles,” he sighed, “it grieves me to have to do this.” His smile falling away as with a sickening crack he broke Charles’ captive wing. Charles made another terrible sound, shuddering in Sebastian’s hands.

“ _NO_!” Erik roared at the sound of the break, splashing deeper into the water as Sebastian hurled Charles out to the center of the lake where he struck, flopping against the surface before he sank below.

Erik’s knife left his fingers, cutting through the air straight at Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian swatting the knife away, throwing it down on the mossy rocks where it shone wetly, reflecting the thin crescent moon above.

“Why did you ever have to return to this clearing, Erik?” Sebastian asked as Erik dove back underwater.

Erik couldn’t see, his hands reaching out blindly as he swam down deeper, still not finding Charles. He wasn’t dead, Erik assured himself. He could still feel the warm pulse of Charles’ presence. He wasn’t dead.

It felt like ages, his lungs tightening agonizingly again, sparks bursting behind his eyes, when Charles’ cold hands gripped his tight in the dark, tugging Erik back to the surface where they clung to each other, trembling and heaving for breath, the night pressing in close now, the last shreds of light gone.

Erik held firmly to both Charles’ hands, gasping in the night air as he slid up Charles’ wrists past his forearms to his elbows, searching for broken bones.

“I’m all right,” Charles said weakly. “It healed itself when I changed.”

Erik drank in the sight of his face this close and the beloved sound of his voice, reaching up to push some of Charles’ wet hair back from his eyes. “ _Charles_ ,” he said shakily.

“I’m all right,” Charles repeated, his fingers digging in against Erik as Erik towed him out of the deeper water.

They waded into the shallows, Erik holding Charles against his side, still intensely aware of Sebastian watching them, waiting.

“How very sweet,” Sebastian said, standing on the shore with his arms folded, “reunited at last.”

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Charles said beseechingly.

“Be silent,” Sebastian said, stepping into the shallows.

“ _You made a deal_ ,” Charles said desperately as Erik hauled him back, inhaling sharply when Erik shoved him sideways into the water as Sebastian reached for them, grasping Erik by his collar, dragging him away from Charles.

“You really were very foolish for coming back here,” Sebastian said, hauling Erik to shore. “It’s a pity, it really is such a waste. Please understand, I never have delighted in killing our kind, and your gift truly is something extraordinary. And then for you to have survived all this time...”

Charles staggered back to his feet, spitting up a mouthful of water, his eyes dark. Sebastian sighed showily, grabbing a fistful of Erik’s hair, twisting his head around until he was staring at Charles.

“What a terrible waste,” Sebastian shook his head.

“Erik,” Charles said his name softy, belying the resolve toughened look on his face.

“Say goodbye, Charles” Sebastian said, his fingers closing claw-like on the back of Erik’s neck, Erik realizing with a jolt of panic that Sebastian intended to break him just like Charles’ wing, but just as quickly as Sebastian’s hand closed on him, it unexpectedly slackened, his body going rigid beside Erik.

“Move away,” Charles ordered.

Erik did as he was told without question, tearing himself free, splashing his way back to Charles’ side, staring at him worriedly as Charles seemed to be in pain. Charles growled out an animalistic sound of frustration, Sebastian’s eyes moving suddenly to stare at him accusingly, his body losing some of its rigidity as he regained the ability to speak.

“You think you could survive in this world without me?” he hissed at Charles furiously. “You wouldn’t last five minutes. You’d be eaten alive the moment anyone discovered you for what you are.”

“ _What_?” Charles asked, his voice dangerously low, “ _A telepath_?”

“ _A homosexual_ ,” Sebastian spat.

Charles eyes were staggeringly blue, made all the brighter by his rage. Erik could feel it, rolling off of him in waves. His power untethering dangerously, expanding outward until it had consumed the entire clearing, until Charles had become a giant. His presence wrathful and terrible for one frightening moment as he dug deep into Sebastian's mind.

“ _I don’t care_ ,” Charles whispered raggedly, his eyes shining wetly as the jaws of his power snapped closed on Sebastian, silencing him once more.

Erik stared at Charles awestruck before he remembered his knife, drawing it back from where it rested against the rocks.

“No, Erik,” Charles said without looking at him, still intent on Sebastian.

“I’ve killed before,” Erik growled. “What’s one more?” The knife felt good back in his hands, knowing exactly what he wanted and only too eager to please. It was German made, stolen from a Nazi soldier in 1944. Erik had taken a great amount of pleasure in forcing it to turn on its master.

“ _No_ ,” Charles snapped.

“He’ll kill us,” Erik countered angrily.

“ _No_ ,” Charles repeated, his face set determinedly grim.

“ _Charles_ …” Erik started to argue before falling silent, peering at Charles closely as his nose began to bleed.

“I can do this,” Charles said vehemently.

“You’re bleeding,” Erik said, the metallic tingle of iron in Charles’ blood making him nervous as his power glided over it.

“I…” Charles started to say before he took a reeling step backward, splashing the shallow water, the wrathful wave of his power falling.

“ _Charles_ ,” Sebastian said, his voice nearly inhuman, making Erik whip back around to face him, Sebastian’s pale eyes swallowed up by a shining blackness, growing larger the longer Erik stared.

“Don’t, Erik,” Charles warned, sensing what Erik was about to do. His skin had gone pallid, and he looked to Erik like he might fall, his nose bleeding in earnest now as he stumbled back, losing his grip on Sebastian.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate, transforming himself the moment Charles let go, his wings stretching wide as he lifted himself into the air.

“Charles!” Erik shouted as Sebastian took flight.

Charles’ cold look of determination returned as he focused on Sebastian rising into the sky, heading for the trees. Sebastian slowing suddenly, stuttering in the air as Charles caught hold of him again, and this time Erik didn’t hesitate or stop when Charles tried to call him off.

He released his knife, feeling it cut a path through the night and right into Sebastian’s feathered flesh. Sebastian jerking in the air, struggling against the drive of the blade before he stilled, plummeting down through the canopy of the trees to the forest floor below.

When Erik turned back to Charles he found him sunk down into the shallows, hunched over and trembling.

“Charles?” he said softly, nearing him carefully and slowly, kneeling down beside him in the water. “Charles?”

Charles’ breaths were rapid, his eyes strangely unfocused, his knees shaking as he drew them to his chest at Erik’s approach, hiding his face against them, blood still trickling from his nose and down his skin.

The moon hung in a thin crescent peeking through a break in the clouds, reflected on the black surface of the lake, thin slivers of light quivering all around Charles as the water surrounding him rippled with the tremors of his body.

Erik’s hand hovered above Charles’ shoulder hesitantly before settling against his skin, Charles tensing at his touch, his body shuddering harder.

“I’m sorry,” Erik said, thinking that Charles might be crying. “Charles, I’m sorry, but he was… _he deserved it_ ,” Erik insisted to him passionately. “He would have killed us both.”

“Erik, it’s all right,” Charles said, his voice choked with tears as Erik had expected.

“You asked me to stop,” Erik said, hesitating before he added, “you didn’t want him to die.”

“I didn’t want him to live either,” Charles admitted. “I can’t explain it.”

Erik was quiet a long time, listening to the sounds of Charles’ uneven breathing and the quiet lapping of the lake before he asked, “Are you afraid of me now?”

Charles made pained sound and shook his head. “You did what needed to be done. There was no other way…I know that,” he said, taking a deep breath then another, sniffing before he raised his head. The thin moonlight shining off the wet tracks of his tears and the dark blood dribbled down his front. Erik raising his hand to Charles’ face, gently trying to use his sleeve to wipe away the blood, withdrawing again when Charles flinched.

“I failed,” Charles said, “I thought I could undo it myself, that I could  _make_ him undo it.”

“ _What_?” Erik asked.

“ _But I failed_ ,” Charles said miserably, “I’m still  _this_  and now…” he trailed off, looking down at the water. When he looked up again he searched Erik’s face, his eyes softening, looking sadder than Erik had ever seen as he said, “He could have killed you, Erik.”

Erik’s fingers itched to touch him, his hand raising again of its own accord to Charles’ damp cheek, but Charles flinched again, almost imperceptibly, and Erik let his hand fall.

*

Charles wrapped his arms around himself as he stood up from the shallows, self-conscious now of his own nakedness, shivering as the night air stroked across his wet skin, averting his gaze from Erik’s face and avoiding his offered hand as he carefully stepped out onto the rocky shore, moving swiftly for the chapel, his face burning as Erik wordlessly followed.

In the dark of the chapel he scrambled to cover himself, listening to the sound of Erik moving around at the foot of the stairs, Erik’s footsteps stilling as he heard Charles knock his elbow into the stone altar and give a quiet hiss.

“Light the candles, Charles,” he said.

“I’m not dressed yet,” Charles answered.

“I’ve already seen you,” Erik said, “and I’ve seen you loads of times when we were younger, you certainly didn’t care then.”

Charles lopsidedly buttoned his shirt and felt for his matches. “We were friends then.”

It was quiet, Charles’ hands scuttling around on the floor for his matches.

“And what are we now?” Erik whispered.

With shaking hands Charles managed to light three of the candles, Erik turning to him at the sound of the first match striking.

“I don’t know,” Charles said.

All his salvation now hinged on Erik’s love. Erik, who had returned to him tempered by steel; sharp-angled and beautiful, broad shouldered and battle worn, while Charles was still boyish and soft, still a prisoner of both swan and forest. It had been easier to believe that Erik could return and love him when Erik had still been away rather than now when he was faced with Erik in the flesh.

His eyes fell to Erik’s lame leg as Erik limped towards him before darting back to Erik’s face. He knew Erik had been injured, devastatingly so, but hadn’t had the opportunity to truly take notice until now. He sank down on top of the alter as Erik neared him, smoothing his hands anxiously against his thighs, watching as Erik’s gaze slid from him to pass over all that he had collected from the forest and hoarded away within the chapel.

“What happened to your books?” Erik asked.

“I moved them to the cottage,” Charles said. “There didn’t seem to be much point in leaving them here when I’ve had it to myself.”

Erik’s eyes flicked back to him. “A woman up at the house said Sebastian and Sharon were engaged.”

Charles nodded. “Sebastian murdered Kurt two years ago. He wanted to take his place, to have control over Mother’s wealth. I tried to stop it but I just… _couldn’t_. Or maybe I just didn’t want it badly enough then, I’m not sure. He and Kurt both murdered my father. Kurt promised him my inheritance to remove me from the picture… _but Sebastian wanted more_.”

Erik’s face flushed dark with anger. “ _How badly did Sebastian hurt you_?”

“He didn’t,” Charles lied.  _At least not in any way you can see_.

Erik didn’t look convinced, Charles dimly aware of the stormy thoughts crashing around in his head before he asked, “Is Ruth okay?”

“She’s fine,” Charles assured. “Sebastian left her mostly alone. He was more preoccupied with Mother. She wants to be a veterinarian, Ruth, I mean. Mother is horrified of course, it’s men’s work, she says, not suitable for ladies.”

“How is she?” Erik asked. “Ruth?”

“Good,” Charles said. “She misses you.”  _I miss you_.

“I miss her too,” Erik said, searching Charles’ face.

“She’s arrived back at the house,” Charles said, his fingers digging into his skin through his trousers, “if you –”

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik said, cutting him off, staring at Charles’ hands, “ _are you okay_?”

Charles hesitated, a huff of breath escaping him. “I’m still a bit shaken, I’ll admit, but I’ll be all right.”

“No.” Erik looked flustered. “I mean, are you…where were you? Earlier today? I never felt you at all until just a while ago. I was at the seashore and you weren’t there, and you weren’t on the lake. You must have known I was coming. When I was in London I could… _I swear I could feel you_.”

Charles stared up at Erik towering above him, the flickering candlelight throwing odd shadows over the angles of Erik’s face. “I was flying,” he said softly. “I knew that you had returned and I felt…I was too afraid to come and see you.”

“ _Charles_ …”

“I didn’t know if you would want to see me again.”

“ _Of course I wanted to see you again_ ,” Erik said, raking a hand agitatedly through his damp hair. “You were all that…Charles, listen to me,  _I’m sorry_ ,  _I’m_ …I didn’t mean anything I said to you that day I left. When I said I wished I’d never met you, that’s not true. You were… _you still are_  the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I came back for my sister, yes, but I also came for you.”

Charles stared at the light reflected in Erik’s eyes, flickering back and forth, aware of the hard altar stone beneath him, the shadows shifting around on the walls and hanging above them, the spirits he could sense but not see watching and waiting to see what he would do.

Carefully he reached out for Erik’s mind, drifting over the surface with the tender and most delicate of caresses, through the storm clouds of Erik’s thoughts, finding all Erik’s intent focused on him, fearing that it was too late, that in his absence Charles had grown wild and shy of his hand.

Charles’ exhaled shakily and reached for Erik’s hand, feeling Erik’s eyes on him as he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss against Erik’s open palm.

“Charles,” Erik said roughly.

“ _You came back_ ,” Charles’ voice trembled on Erik’s skin.

“I did,” Erik laughed shortly, a strangled, nervous sound as Charles released his hand, gently sliding his fingers against Erik’s skin before looking back up at him. “ _I did_.” He smiled weakly at Charles just before dropping to his knees as if to grovel before him, the sound of his strange, choked laughter growing wet as he clutched at Charles’ calves, resting his forehead against Charles’ knee.

Charles was startled by it, his shaking hands threading into Erik’s hair before he had time to think. Erik made another choked sound, shifting under his touch, pushing himself in between Charles’ legs, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist, burying his face into the soft fabric covering Charles’ stomach.

Charles whimpered as his hands caressed everywhere they could touch, through Erik’s hair, down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, before cupping Erik’s face and tipping his head back so that he was looking up at Charles.

“Everything’s changed,” Charles whispered to him fearfully.

“Not everything,” Erik breathed, his hands gliding up Charles’ sides, pulling Charles forward until he slid from the altar to Erik’s lap.

Charles closed his eyes against the sudden sting of his tears as Erik buried his face into Charles’ hair, Charles holding him tighter and tighter, clutching fistfuls of the back of Erik’s wet shirt, letting the thrum of Erik’s mind grip hold of him, Erik welcoming him in, feeling comforted now with Charles wrapped entirely around him, dragging a hand down Charles’ spine and then back up again. Charles threaded his fingers back into Erik’s hair, turning his head to press a kiss against Erik’ temple, and Erik made a sound, squeezing Charles until it hurt, terrified of letting go and losing him all over again.

“I have you,” Charles whispered against his temple, “it’s all right, I have you.”

They ended up curled together on the floor of the chapel, Charles watching as Erik stripped away his wet shirt and laid back, holding his arm out for Charles. The intimacy between them hadn’t gone, Charles realized with a wave of relief, his eyes tracing over the scars that war had left behind on Erik’s chest until he reached the angrier mark of where a bullet had struck.

He closed his eyes, pressing close to Erik, his fingers wandering delicately over the expanse of Erik’s skin, over the steady beat of his heart, to the dark and pitted scar. Erik’s fingers skimming along the fabric covering his lower back, stilling at the hem before hesitantly sliding beneath it. He sighed and nuzzled Erik closer as Erik traced slow patterns across his skin, pleasure shivering its way through him at the gentle touch.

“How did he do it?” Erik wondered aloud, his breath warm against Charles’ face.

“What?” Charles asked drowsily.

“Get away with murdering Kurt all this time?”

“He was too strong, he’s been holding everyone in the house hostage. They’ve been too afraid to go against him or to turn him in after seeing the things he was capable of. Anyone from the police who tried to arrest him would have just been killed.”

Erik went quiet for a while, his hand flattening out warm against Charles’ back, his other petting through Charles’ hair. The soothing stoke of his hand and the slow rise and fall of his breath lulling Charles into a half-sleep.

“I could hear you when you were still a swan,” Erik spoke again suddenly.

“It was easier to get the words across,” Charles murmured, “it doesn’t ordinarily work, but you were in danger…”

“I heard you in the cemetery in France too,” Erik whispered, and Charles blinked open his eyes and shivered.

“You nearly died,” Charles whispered back.

“I didn’t imagine it then.” Erik sounded almost pleased.

“No,” Charles said, “you didn’t imagine it. I was with you. I stayed with you as long as I could.”

Charles listened then as Erik remembered being found by Hank, and how he had stayed with him and his wife, Raven while he recovered from his wounds. He told Charles about Hank’s ability to transform into a great blue beast, and Raven’s blue scales. The son they had had while Erik was there with them and how alien and beautiful he was. Charles gliding along through Erik’s memories while he spoke, captivated by what he saw.

But there was a darkness lurking just beyond the surface of Erik’s lighter memories, one that had consumed Erik almost in entirety. Shadows and skulking crooked things creeping around in the cracks and corners, Erik’s anger still pulsing hot and vengeful, caging Erik’s mind like barbed wire. Beneath the tangle of it Charles discovered the wellspring, the blackness emerging from a pit of grief that had no end, filled with all Erik’ sorrow and all the hateful things he had seen and endured.

Tears pricked at the corners of Charles’ eyes, his hold on Erik tightening as the chapel went darker, two of the candles blowing out on their own. He did the best he could to lighten and soothe some of Erik’s dark, Erik relaxing slightly with a small sigh, and Charles closed his eyes.

*

The world around them turned entirely dark just before dawn, the stars in the sky blowing out one by one, the echoing trill of blackbirds filling the clearing.

A feverish and faint dream memory of being enfolded in Charles’ wings and feeling sheltered and safe within them was swimming on the surface of Erik’s thoughts as Charles opened his eyes, unsure of whether or not he had slept at all. He shifted against Erik, pressing their foreheads together before raising himself up slightly. Erik made a sound as Charles moved, Charles kissing his temple before he could fully awaken, then climbing up off the floor.

Erik groaned at the loss of contact, blinking open his eyes, staring up at Charles’ dark outline before feeling for his shirt and getting to his feet. Letting Charles take his hand and lead him slowly from the chapel and into the chilly predawn air.

“There isn’t anything,” Erik said beside the shore of the lake, buttoning his shirt, “nothing we could do to change you back?”

_Swear to me_ , Charles thought desperately,  _swear forever to me_.

“No,” he said aloud.

_I’ll take care of you_ , Erik’s mind whispered fervently as he sank with Charles to the ground.

Charles smiled faintly and then looked away, undressing himself nervously, Erik’s eyes not leaving him, a flush spreading on his pale skin that he was thankful Erik couldn’t see. Startling as Erik gently touched his newly revealed collarbone before trailing down his skin, stopping just over his pounding heart.

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles’ voice sounded strangled to his own ears as Erik leant forward, hesitating just before his lips touched Charles’, waiting for Charles to say no or push him away.

Charles didn’t, staring into Erik’s wide open eyes before his gaze fell to Erik’s mouth, his eyes half lidded, blinking slowly open and closed, Erik’s breathing warm and damp on his face as he closed his eyes and bridged the last tiny portion of space left between them. The longing and despair he had felt rising to the surface at the heat of their lips touching, until he was trembling with Erik’s hand still pressed to his heart, his closed eyes welling with tears.

_Don’t leave me_ , Charles’ mental voice shattered apart inside Erik’s head.

Erik made a pained sound as Charles’ tears spilled over, pressing against Charles harder, more insistently, before pulling away.

Charles smiled shakily, blinking his eyes back open as Erik cupped his face and smoothed his thumbs tenderly against his cheekbones, wiping away some of the damp. The sky had grown pale, Charles tipping his head back out of Erik’s hands, watching as the first faint rays of light spilled into the clearing and onto his face, biting his lip to silence his pain as the swan took hold, only for Erik to prize it free and press back against his lips, kissing him more desperately, this time urging Charles’ lips to part. Charles moaning into his mouth before he was forced to break away, his breaths panting, the blue of his eyes dwindling.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik said his name, his voice fragile, half plea, half prayer, as white feathers began to steal their way down Charles’ skin.

He pulled Charles back onto his lap, his hands stroking over the feathers as they appeared, sprouting up out of the pale flesh, pressing kisses to Charles’ shoulder, his throat, his face, his hair, whispering fiercely, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed Charles’ shuddering, twisting body again and again, until Charles had gone, leaving only a white feathered swan in his place, Erik’s fingers stroking up his bill, across his head, and gently down his neck.

“I’ll come see you in a while,” Erik whispered hoarsely, kissing the top of Charles’ bill. “I promise.”

*

The sunlight hurt Erik’s eyes as he stepped out of the forest and into the woodland garden, Charles appearing from over the trees, swooping low beside him, his presence whispering over Erik before he rose high again, letting the wind take him to sea. Erik watched him go until he vanished into the sun’s rays before starting across the lawn.

There were still a few cars parked along the drive; guests that had come for Sebastian’s masquerade, he guessed. Though he saw no one outside as he neared the back garden path, steeling himself to find Ruth, when the sound of a girl humming a soft and sad tune made him still a moment before continuing. Quietly following the somber melody of what he recognized as one of his father’s to the large garden fountain, his breathing stuttering to a halt the moment he set his eyes on her.

Ruth had grown taller, the colorful gleam of her peacock feathered costume looking odd and out-of-place now under the early morning sun, her eyes staring at nothing Erik could see, softly unfocused as she continued to hum.

“Ruth,” he said softly.

She jumped to her feet at the sound of his voice, a feathered mask falling from her lap to the ground, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, reminding Erik strangely of himself, her hair that was the same color as his shining red in the golden light. Her eyes though, were their mother’s, dark and warm, but as he took the last limping steps toward her, he saw they had aged considerably.

“Ruth,” he repeated, his hand reaching out.

She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, his hand catching hold of hers quickly as she looked ready to bolt.

She inhaled sharply in shock, looking down at his hand wrapped around hers, carefully touching the fingers of her free hand to the back of his before staring up at him, her face crumpling.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her face colorless as though she were speaking with a ghost.

“I know,” he said, “I –”

“You weren’t evacuated.”

“I was separated.”

“They sent a telegram saying you were gone.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” Erik said, pulling her to him, “but they were wrong, it’s all right. Please don’t cry, it’s all right.”

“ _They told me you were dead_ ,” she said brokenly, throwing her arms around him, her voice rising, “that you weren’t coming back, that I needed to…that I needed to give you up, that I needed to give Mama and…”

“I know,” he said, holding her tightly, “I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of her head as she buried her face against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I’m back now, I’ve come back.”

She clung to him for a long moment, quaking with silent tears. “Did you find Mama and Papa?” she asked, her words frail and barely audible.

Erik closed his eyes. “ _No_ ,” he admitted sadly. “ _No_ ,  _I’m sorry_.”

“ _They’re gone_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, stroking her hair as she made a pained sound, clinging to him tighter.

“Erik?”

“ _I’m so sorry_ ,” he said.

“You’ve come back,” she said, echoing Charles’ earlier words.

Erik smiled feebly, his eyes blurring with unshed tears. “Yes,” he agreed, “I’ve come back.”

*

Earlier in the day Erik had searched the forest floor for Sebastian, following the call of his knife, finding it cast into the moss, glinting in the dappling light, surrounded by clumps of dark variegated feathers and a few shards of hollow bone. Sebastian’s remains must have been taken by an animal, he thought, the bones stolen away deep into the forest where Erik would never find them.

He shivered in the evening air even though it was still quite warm, turning his head suddenly to stare at Sharon as she cried out, stepping through a spider’s web suspended between two trees, her hands swatting at the front of her dress.

“It’s dark in here,” Cain complained, helping to peel the web away from Sharon’s shoulder while pointing his electric torch everywhere through the trees, landing on Ruth as she hopped spritely from rock to rock before climbing up onto a fallen log, waiting for them to catch up.

“Ruth, dearest,” Sharon said nervously, her hands stilling as she composed herself, “you’ll stain your lovely dress.”

Ruth ignored her, leaping down beside Erik as he passed, taking his hand in hers as together they led Sharon and Cain deeper in through the forest to the clearing. Ruth biting back a smile, listening to the two of them fret over every small sound and every leaf or twig that brushed against them, worrying over insects and animals. Cain wondering aloud if there were any beasts lurking in the trees.

“There is now,” she giggled.

“ _Oh_ ,  _shut up_ ,” Cain sighed.

Erik glanced back at him, from the moment he’d laid his eyes on Cain again he was reminded of how irritating he’d always been, but Cain had become gentler since Erik had seen him last, strangely so.

_“Kurt was hitting him,” Ruth told him. “He’d shut himself up in his room for days on end, but Kurt would always go up and collect him. You could hear them arguing with each other. Cain was always saying he didn’t want the same things as Kurt and that would make Kurt so angry. He was devastated though when Sebastian murdered him. Can you imagine having to pretend to like the person responsible for the death of your father?”_

Erik faced forward again as his foot caught, making him stumble a bit, Ruth steadying him before they continued on.

In the clearing Erik pulled the dressing gown he had thrown over his shoulder into his hands, staring at the empty lake.

Sharon moved ahead of him, her eyes sweeping over the graveyard and the stone chapel before she stepped purposefully toward the water, Erik staying silent as he followed, Ruth and Cain trailing after them.

The light dimmed, washing everything grey, the pale crescent moon already hanging in the sky when the swan appeared over the trees.

Erik waited, holding his breath as Charles descended onto the lake, Charles barely touching down on the water before he began moving swiftly toward Erik and Cain.

“Well?” Cain demanded. “Where is he? I thought you said you were taking us to see Charles.”

“I did,” Erik said, staring pointedly at the swan.

“Well I don’t see anything,” Cain said, watching the swan glide closer, “except a great big bloody bird.”

Charles abandoned the shallows, climbing out onto shore, his webbed feet slapping against the rocks, his neck arched low as he started towards them.

“I might consider backing up,” Ruth said to Cain.

“Why?” Cain asked, taking a step closer, holding out his hand. “It’s only a –”

Charles fanned out his wings, stretching his neck long as he pinched Cain’s stubby fingers hard with his bill.

Cain jerked his hand away, stumbling behind Erik, staring at Charles accusingly. “ _That thing_ …did you see what it just did? Why, if I had my –”

“Cain, sweetheart,  _don’t shout_ ,” Sharon said.

“ _The damn thing just bit me_ ,” Cain sputtered to her angrily.

“ _Hush_ ,” Sharon said, touching a hand to Cain’s arm, looking at Charles uncomfortably before glancing at the dark sky. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

The thin crescent moon stood out brighter, stars blinking into view, the trees creaking wearily, the soft wind swaying the reeds.

Charles’ body suddenly jerked and rolled to the side, the bones underneath rearranging and extending, looking ready to split the feathery flesh.

“ _NO!_ ” Cain tried to scream as Erik slapped a hand over his mouth, glancing quickly at Sharon, who had covered her own mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with horror.

Erik released Cain, stooping down beside Charles, carefully draping the dressing gown he had brought from the house over him as his feathers fell away.

Once Charles was able to he snatched the dressing gown around himself irritably, making sure he was wrapped in it tightly before lurching to his feet, glaring at Erik as he did.

“She wanted to see you,” Erik said to him quietly. “I told her what happened with Sebastian…most of it anyway.”

“Charles,” Sharon said softly.

Charles’ eyes shifted from Erik to his mother, narrowing sharply as he wrapped his arms around himself and turned, marching toward the chapel, his white dressing gown fluttering out behind him, making him stand out against the dark as he stalked past Ruth and then Cain, who was slumped over on a gravestone, staring at the ground and mumbling to himself, “No more bloody birds, first the owl, now this.”

“Darling, wait,” Sharon called, following after him, Charles stilling in the center of the graveyard. “I tried to move you back into the house, Darling,” she said pleadingly, “but Kurt wouldn’t hear of it.”

“ _Kurt wouldn’t hear of it_?” Charles said scathingly, turning back around. “ _Kurt_?  _Who was it that said I had gone mad_?  _Who agreed when Kurt said I should be committed_?”

“I made a mistake,” Sharon said.

“ _And then Sebastian_ ,” Charles snarled, striding back through the gravestones. “ _Who agreed to give me to Sebastian_?  _To let him keep me chained up in a servant’s cottage like a mongrel dog_?”

“He promised he could help you,” Sharon said feebly.

“ _Help me_!?” Charles’ voice was near shrill.

Erik wanted to go to him, Charles’ distress leaking over into him, but he knew Charles likely wouldn’t appreciate the gesture just now. Beside him Cain turned on the stone he was slumped against to stare at Sharon and Charles, Ruth still hovering close to his other side.

“You didn’t care about helping me,” Charles said, “the only thing you cared about was what your friends might think of you having a  _disturbed_ child. Do you have  _any idea_  what this has been like for me?”

Erik couldn’t see Sharon’s face but he could hear that she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small. “I never meant for you to…I wanted to move you back into the house years ago but I just…Kurt wouldn’t…but you can come back with me now, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Charles glared at her. “I cannot leave this godforsaken forest,” he hissed. “Have you forgotten that?” And even so, even if I could, so help me, I would not live back in your damned house.”

Ruth left Erik and went to Charles’ side, touching his hand lightly, Charles glancing at her briefly before looking back to Sharon.

“I only thought that…” Sharon started sadly before cutting herself off. “I can have whatever you’d like brought here for you,” she said finally, trying to appease him. “Whatever you’d like, Darling, you only have to say the word.”

“I don’t want anything,” Charles said stubbornly. “I want you to leave, and take  _him_ with you.” He pointed at Cain.

Sharon made a sound, like she wished to say more but decided against it for the night. Instead she took a step toward him, hesitating before awkwardly wrapping her arms around his rigid frame.

At first Charles didn’t respond, staring over her shoulder with large eyes, but then some of his bitterness drained, leaving him more wearied than angered as he patted Sharon lightly on the shoulder before taking a quick step back, looking away.

“I’ll come back,” Sharon said, “when you’ve had time to calm down. I think perhaps that this is all a little too much for you to handle tonight.”

Charles said nothing, Sharon looking at him for another long moment before turning, moving past Erik to the tree line.

“Charles,” Ruth said, squeezing his hand, “Charles, it’ll be okay.”

Charles nodded, smiling for her slightly before looking straight at Cain, still leaning heavily on a gravestone.

Cain’s eyes widened at Charles’ stare, his face blanching as he pushed himself away from the stone, scrambling after Sharon.

“What did you do to him?” Ruth asked, watching him go.

“Nothing,” Charles said, “I only told him  _goodnight_.”

Erik came to stand at Charles’ other side, lightly touching his elbow. “She insisted,” he said when Charles scowled at him. “As soon as she realized Sebastian was gone she started going on about you living back in the house. It seems she’s developed new tolerance for –”

“I can’t live in the house,” Charles interrupted.

“I know,” Erik said softly, “but I thought she should at least see you.”

Charles stared tensely ahead at the lake, Erik’s fingers beginning to stroke up his arm. He exhaled loudly, loosening slightly under Erik’s hand, the wind ruffling his hair and the hem of his dressing gown as Erik turned him, carefully looping an arm around Charles’ waist, his lips twitching into a small smile as Charles sank into him.

Ruth quietly moved back through the graveyard and past the lake, lingering on the edge of the clearing, watching them for a moment before disappearing into the trees.

Erik trailed his fingers between Charles’ shoulder blades, down his spine, over the thin softness of his dressing gown, his eyes closing as Charles sighed, blinking open again as the long, wailing call of a loon broke the silence, answered quickly by another somewhere in the dark. Their cries rising up all around them as he kissed Charles’ forehead, the frail skin beneath his left eye, his lips, Charles pulling back a moment later, his eyes closed, smiling slightly as Erik kissed him softly again before laying his head against Erik’s shoulder.

*

Charles soared into the clearing, gliding low, the flight feathers of his wings brushing against the surface of the lake before he settled smoothly onto the water. The sunlight vanished and the waxing moon already risen, growing brighter and brighter in the sky. Charles’ body writhing as he was given back to himself for another night, until he was standing in the shallows, making himself breathe slowly while the pain eased.

Erik was still in the house, he knew, and becoming agitated, wanting to get back to Charles but staying quiet about it as Mrs. Elsner bade him to eat the stew she had prepared for him.  _You need to eat_ , Charles listened to her through Erik,  _look how thin you’ve gotten_.

Charles smiled softly. He’d spent nearly two weeks learning Erik’s mind anew, soothing over the jagged edges while Erik learned him all over again too, sleeping in the cottage with Charles rather than in the house while he tried to think of what to do next. He liked the solitude, Charles discovered quickly, but was growing restless as he wondered what he should do now with his life, the only thing he was certain of being that he wanted Charles close.

Each morning he soothed the pain of Charles’ transformations, watching as Charles was overcome by feathers, stroking his hands across Charles’ body as though he were something sacred.

Part of Charles was amused by the fact that Erik, who had always hesitated to touch him, fearing both the meaning and the consequences, now couldn’t seem to stop. Gliding his hands down Charles again and again, trying to reassure himself each time that Charles was real. But another part of him was frustrated that Erik had done no more beyond touch him softly and kiss him sweetly, immediately gentling Charles if he should become aggressive. Erik kissed him and ran his hands over him, but never touched where Charles now ached for it most.

He would soothe Erik down into sleep, chasing away his nightmares before slipping outside where he would often end up hunched over in the dark beside the cottage, leaning his back against the stone while he frantically jerked himself off, biting his lip to silence any sound, keeping his power tightly reeled in so as not to wake Erik. Afterwards he would sit awake, watching Erik while he slept, considering telling him of Sebastian’s final curse.

Erik loved him, Charles was sure, his mind lit up each time Charles smiled or laughed, he curled himself tightly against Charles while he slept. He’d created sketches and paintings of Charles while in London. Two days ago he’d collected seashells while visiting Charles at the shore and then that night had brought them to Charles as a gift, knowing how badly Charles wanted to live beside the sea, beaming at how happy Charles was to have them, watching him line them up all along the windowsills of the cottage. And then the night before Charles had followed Erik outside to find him using his power to guide a pair of metal clippers high into the trees, cutting down Sebastian’s clanking strands of bones, his mind set on making Charles’ life as pleasant as he could. But there was a part of Charles that still doubted, that remained too frightened to look into Erik’s mind and see how deeply his love ran, especially since Erik still had yet to say so, and the curse demanded that in the clearing, Erik swear to love Charles forever.

A loon call broke apart Charles’ thoughts as he treaded toward the rocky shore, the lake water felt cool on his skin tonight, lapping at his thighs, making him shiver pleasantly.

He slowed to a stop, the only sounds he could hear were the lonely calls of the loons, the gentle roll of the water on the rocks, and the high hum of dozens of singing frogs. He was alone.

He widened his stance and now the water lapped at his cock as it rushed up between his legs.

His nipples hardened, goosebumps trailing down his skin as he curled his fingers loosely around himself, gliding his hand along his foreskin, revealing the head of his cock. He made a soft sound, his water slicked grip firming around his length, his breath shuddering out then back in as his hips jerked forward, warmth spreading through his groin, his cock thickening in his hand.

He tipped his head back, his lips falling open as his other hand smoothed against his wet skin, his fingers rubbing over one of his hard nipples while he imagined Erik’s tongue flicking against it. A tremor ran through him, his hips jerking fitfully before he settled into a rhythm, short little gasps of breath escaping him as he began to stroke himself, his fingers curling tighter, squeezing at the head. The sounds of the clearing fading into the background as he chased helplessly after relief.

He’d imagined countless times now Erik’s lips wrapped around his cock, or one of his slender, long fingers buried in Charles’ arse. He’d imagined Erik’s cock stretching him open as often as he’d imagined himself plunging deep into Erik’s body, pulling pleasure-wracked cries up past Erik’s throat.

Precome dribbled from the head of his flush-darkened cock, smearing against his fingers, the tension in his groin winding almost unbearably tight until with one last firm stroke of his hand he shuddered from head to toe, bending forward and groaning as his cock pulsed into the lake, clouding and swirling thick through the dark water, his hips twitching as his fingers wrung out the last pearly drops before he shakily went ashore and collapsed onto his back with a relieved sigh, blinking up at the stars glittering above, his wet limbs trembling.

He listened to the loons singing to each other, his heart slowing as lazy tendrils of his power reached out for Erik in the dark, staying curled around Erik’s mind while he closed his eyes and waited.

*

“They’re his favorite,” Erik heard Ruth say to Sharon, opening his eyes, staring up at the grey-blue sky above, thinking to himself that it might rain later as he raised himself up to his elbows to get a better look.

Ruth and Sharon had a blanket laid out on the lawn beside the manor front pond, and Charles settled in the center of it, Ruth’s hand smoothing his feathers as she watched Sharon scoop up a handful of plump blackberries from a dish, Erik suppressing a smile as Charles grudgingly accepted the berries from her hand.

“What else?” Sharon asked, smiling almost giddily.

“Wild strawberries,” Ruth answered. “He’ll go after those by himself if he can.”

“I didn’t bring those out,” Sharon said, looking into the basket she had brought outside. “I can fetch them though.”

Erik watched her stride back towards the house before crawling to the blanket, coaxing Charles to his lap, stroking his head and down his neck. The end of Charles’ bill was wet and stained dark with crushed blackberry, Erik’s fingers wiping some of it away when he noticed Ruth staring at him with an odd expression.

“What?” he asked uneasily.

“I know how you feel about him,” she said softly, her eyes moving from him to Charles in his lap. “I think I’ve always known.”

Erik’s stomach lurched nauseatingly before it resettled, Ruth still staring at him, waiting for him to speak while Charles plucked absently at the buttons of his shirt.

“Are you upset?” he asked, his hands spreading against Charles’ folded wings.

Ruth was silent a moment before slowly shaking her head. “He loves you,” she said at last, smiling softly at Charles as he released Erik’s shirt and turned his head to stare at her.

*

Charles had changed, Erik realized, gazing down on him as he slept tangled up with his quilt late in the night,  _The Call of the Wild_  fallen closed at the tips of his fingers. He had lost some of his lightheartedness, his laughter quieter, and his smiles more fleeting, but he was still Erik’s Charles. Erik listened to him murmur something in his sleep, his brow crinkling in distress while his fingers twitched, searching for something, until Erik carded through his hair and he stilled, falling silent, his features smoothing back out again.

Erik kept petting him, watching the light burn down lower and lower in the grate before kissing Charles’ cheek, curling around him, finding his hand and threading their fingers together before he closed his eyes, listening to the soft in and out puffs of Charles’ breathing as he followed him down into sleep.

*

The wind streamed silkily over Charles’ feathers as he soared over the grey expanse of the sea, through spray and mist, feeling exultant as he lifted higher on his wings, parting a flock of seagulls as he turned in the air, leaving the red sun behind him as it sank down into the water.

His winged shadow glided over hills and narrow country lanes before he turned again, finding the twining river, following it as it cut through forest trees. The wind whistling past as he plunged lower, his eye catching on a kingfisher perched on a branch jutting from the bank, diving into the sparkling water with a splash, reappearing with a silvery fish held tight in its beak. If Charles could he would laugh, in flight he felt truly happy, he was free, could imagine touching both the moon and the stars, if for only so long as he glided on the wind.

He lifted higher again, the bird vanishing from his sight as he swooped through the trees and over the lake, his wings rasping as he descended to the water below.

His transformation pained him as it always did, his flesh stretching over hollow bone that was rearranging, becoming sturdier and marrow filled, making him shudder wretchedly, coming back to himself with a sharp gasp as he shed his wings and all his downy feathers, the surface of the lake now scattered with white.

His breathing eased, his eyes opening as he gazed down at the water surrounding himself, transfixed for a moment by the twinkling of thousands of stars reflected back to him off the lakes’ surface. When he moved it was like wading through starlight, his own feathers appearing to drift across the night sky and the pale face of the moon.

The wind caressed his skin as it had his feathers as he moved from the shallows to the shore, the air smelling clean like the rain and sweet with wild blackcurrant and honeysuckle. The moss cool and damp against his feet, glittering with droplets of the rain that fallen earlier in the day as he stepped through the graveyard. The sounds of night birds, singing frogs, the wind rustling through the leaves, following him into the dark of the chapel.

The moon streamed through the shards of the apex arch, robing him with its light as he passed beneath it, feeling with his mind for Erik, finding him in the back garden of his mother’s house, Erik’s thoughts churning and frothing like the high tide of the sea, but calming, his mind lighting up the moment he sensed Charles’ presence.

_Come back to me now_ , Charles said through the stone of the chapel, the forest, the night itself.

*

Anyone found to be a homosexual in Nazi occupied Europe was arrested and sentenced to either prison or the camps, Erik remembered darkly. He knew of the pink triangles the Nazis had added to the concentration camp badges to denote a homosexual, the act of lying with another man seen as perverse as pedophilia or rape.

Sebastian had been right about at least one thing, the world would never accept them. They had been doomed from the moment Erik set foot in the forest on the night of his seventeenth birthday.

Erik frowned, watching the blades of the shears cut the vivid green stalks of several paperwhites as he guided them with his powers.

What he wanted was forbidden. Except Charles was so deeply entrenched in his soul that he could never think to even try and uproot him. They were bound, and had been so far before they had ever met. Charles loved him, and for that love Erik would burn a thousand times over.  

*

Charles scattered the candles from the altar to the floor and climbed atop the hard stone, laying his back against its cold surface as his hands smoothed across his own heaving chest, toying with his sensitive nipples, hardened from being exposed in the night air, his entire body alive and humming with excitement as he curled himself around Erik’s mind, his desire lapping against Erik shamelessly. Tingles of pleasure shivering through his flesh at the slightest brush of his own fingertips. He closed his eyes against the moon drenching his face, spilling through the apex arch, listening to the slow sound of the lake rolling over the rocks just outside the chapel walls. His fingers tripping lower to grip his cock, feeling the heat and weight of it in his hand as it swelled.

He could feel Erik now, prowling around in the forest like a wolf, honed in on and fast approaching to its prey.

His thighs shivered, his toes curling against the stone as he stroked himself, boldly letting his desire bleed outward rather than reel it in, Erik catching the scent of it like a shark to blood.

Charles made a low sound as he unsheathed himself, his fingers trembling against the velvet softness of his foreskin, revealing the pale head of his cock, blushing pink now, a drop of precome already beading at the tip, his other hand sliding against the softer curve of his inner thigh.

There was a lull in the frogs’ song outside, the sound of footsteps falling on the chapel stairs, Charles’ hands not faltering even when he felt Erik in the doorway, his eyes on Charles where Charles had laid himself out like a feast, following the movements of Charles’ body as he undulated under his own stroking and kneading hands.

Charles opened his eyes, turning his head on the stone, watching Erik’s chest rise and fall.

Charles waited; a virgin sacrifice upon the altar, moonlight spilt on his pale skin.

_Give me this._  He sent the words to Erik through the shadows of the chapel.  _Everything else has been taken from me, give me this._

Erik looked like an innocent suitor come to ask for his hand, flowers clutched tightly in his fingers, staring at Charles as though he were holy and divine.

Charles was wanton, lightning crackling on his skin in anticipation.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice raspy and weak, his entire body shaking with both pleasure and nerves.

Erik did as he was told.

The flowers fell from his hand, paperwhites and the white roses of the back gardens, wild heather and thistle from the hills, thrift from along the coast, his feet carrying him willfully to the altar. Charles sat up, capturing Erik’s hands the moment he was close enough to touch, searching Erik’s eyes and threading himself into the tangle of Erik’s thoughts as he drew him in close.

Erik’s mind was a maelstrom, spinning with lust and fear and bone-deep yearning. Charles listened to him breathe, his breath hitting warm and damp across Charles’ face, shuddery and slow as Charles rested their foreheads together, Erik’s eyes wide, staring unblinking into his as he guided Erik’s hands to his thighs.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik’s voice cracked.

“ _I want you_ ,” Charles breathed, pressing his lips to Erik’s, the corner of Erik’s mouth, his cheek, before nosing at his hair.

Erik whimpered out a tiny, quiet sound, his head falling forward as he stared down at his own hands roaming timidly across Charles’ flushed and heated skin.

Charles’ cock was heavy and thick, jutting up and twitching, every one of his hairs standing on end, his skin searing under Erik’s fingertips as he slid his hands up Charles’ thighs, his thumb dragging along the warm, damp crease of Charles’ groin, feeling the tiny jerks of his muscles, so close to but not yet touching his cock.

When Erik lifted his head again to stare into Charles’ lust darkened eyes, his mind was still churning anxiously, desperately wanting Charles but still fearful and still hesitant. There were any number of terrible things that could happen to them, that could tear them back apart, and Erik had savage, ruthless anger riddled through his bones, and if he wasn’t careful he feared Charles would be ruined by his own hand.

“ _You are not going to ruin me_ ,” Charles’ whispered words trembled with conviction, his heartbeat fluttering inside his chest. “ _Touch me_.  _Please, I need you to touch me_.”

“I want to be with you,” Erik whispered.

“ _Touch me_.”

Erik exhaled shakily in answer, pressing his lips back against Charles’, Charles slowly licking his way into Erik’s mouth, stealing away his breath, Erik’s fingers trembling on Charles’ jaw as his other hand curled loosely around Charles’ cock, Charles’ hips jerking forward before he forced himself still again, his body tense and buzzing. Erik withdrew from his mouth, still stroking along Charles’ jawline, something wondering and fierce in his gaze as he thumbed at the head of Charles’ swollen cock, through the precome dribbled from his slit, pulling a strangled cry past Charles’ lips.

“ _Are you okay_?” Erik asked, close to his ear.

Charles nodded frantically, Erik’s grip on him firming, Charles’ eyes closing as Erik stroked down his length to the root, then back up to the head with a squeeze. Charles groaned, his mouth falling partly open, feeling almost out of body as his eyes cracked open to watch his cock slide back and forth through the tight circle of Erik’s fingers.

_You’re beautiful_ , Erik thought ardently.  _Did I ever tell you that?_

Charles shook his head helplessly, another bead of precome leaking from the tip of his cock, whimpering as Erik pressed a kiss to his temple before he slowly leant down between Charles’ thighs and licked it away. Charles keened, his body twitching like he’d been shocked, his eyes squeezing shut again. Another groan tumbling from his lips as Erik suddenly pulled away, a kiss landing on the top of his thigh before Erik kissed a trail up his front, Erik’s hands caressing everywhere they could reach now. Charles’ fingers threading into Erik’s hair the moment their lips touched, scratching against his scalp, making him moan into Charles’ mouth, his thoughts starting to blur at the edges.

Charles moved his hands to Erik’s chest, pressing against him through the cloth of his shirt. Erik’s face was beet red, the flush crawling further and further down his throat and chest as Charles undid the buttons one by one, his fingers trailing against the hard muscled planes of Erik’s torso, his mouth finding Erik’s nipple the second he pushed the fabric away.

Erik’s fingers dug sharply into Charles’ shoulders, a low moan escaping him as Charles licked and sucked at him, his hand crawling down Erik’s front to rub teasingly against his cock through his trousers. Charles’ lips twitching into a near smile as Erik made another sound, higher this time, frustrated, stumblingly toeing off his shoes while shoving his trousers and underwear down and off.

For a long moment Charles did nothing but stare. His eyes traveling over the lean, muscular planes of Erik’s body, his narrow hips, and his strong thighs, his cock jutting out proudly from a thatch of dark hair, the head swollen and dark.

Charles reached a hand out for him, drawing Erik back in close, wrapping his legs around him. His eyes soft and fond as he touched gently at the scars across Erik’s body, bending his head to kiss the bullet mark on Erik’s chest, gliding his hands up Erik’s arms and then back down again.

“Charles,” Erik said his name like he was waking up from a dream, his eyes closed as Charles touched him, opening again, grimacing as though he were in pain as Charles’ hand slid down over his cock, the tip of Charles’ finger tracing the faint scar from his circumcision.

“ _God_ ,” Erik choked out, and Charles didn’t know if he was rambling or praying, his body shivering in the cage of Charles’ thighs.

Charles kissed his velvety hair, his fingers squeezing around the thick girth of Erik’s cock, making Erik whimper and jerk against his hand as he stroked from the head to the root.

His own cock throbbed painfully as he stroked Erik again, making him moan, throaty and desperate, his hips moving rhythmically against Charles’ hand now.

Charles buried his face against Erik’s neck, taking in the clean scent of him, pressing frantic kisses against his sweat dampened skin, until finally he could take no more. His hold on Erik slackened, Erik whimpering at the loss before Charles gripped his arse, hauling him impossibly closer, aligning their hips, wrapping his hands around himself and Erik both.

_Together_ , he thought, no longer trusting himself to speak.  _Come on, Darling_.

Erik’s fingers on his flesh were telling him he was loved, even if Erik didn’t say the words, trailing across Charles’ freckles, following after his hands with his lips, worshiping him, cupping Charles’ cheek, making a soft sound as Charles turned into the touch and kissed his palm,  his other hand settling against the small of Charles’ back, sliding up along his spine and his neck into his hair where he threaded his fingers into the soft, dark locks just tight enough to hold Charles’ head still as he nipped at Charles’ white throat, immediately soothing the sting of his teeth with wet, openmouthed kisses.

He thrust into Charles’ hands, Charles moaning at the friction against his cock as he kept stroking them, his face contorting with pleasure as he took them closer and closer to the edge, gasping as Erik kept mouthing and growling against his throat.

Charles could feel that Erik was agonizingly close to coming, the pressure and tension winding tight in his groin near excruciating, his teeth bared and his eyes clenched shut as he shuddered, his thrusts helpless and erratic until finally his body went rigid, a choked sound escaping him as his cock throbbed, pulsing hot over Charles’ hands.

Charles cried out as the intensity of Erik’s orgasm washed through him like a wave, Erik’s mind gone blissfully blank as he leant heavily against Charles, Charles’ own orgasm already fluttering at the root of his cock, heat curling in his groin, his hips stuttering a moment later, his lips forming Erik’s name as his cock spurted between them, streaking across skin until both his and Erik’s bellies were wet and sticky with their combined pleasure.

Erik clung to him, radiating warm affection and happiness, his thoughts calm now as he stroked through Charles’ hair and kissed his jaw sweetly, Charles eyes fluttering open and closed, his body twitching in the aftermath.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik whispered as Charles’ trembling legs fell away from him, drawing Charles off the altar, taking Charles with him as he sank slowly down to the floor.

Charles draped himself over Erik’s lap, his heartbeat slowing, the night air cooling his sweat damp skin. Erik’s mind felt softer now, his sharp edges dulled, his fingers combing gently through Charles’ hair. Charles sighed, his half lidded eyes watching the moonlight slanting along the walls, pressing back the shadows. 

*

Erik nosed at Charles’ hair, listening to the slow in and out of his breathing, holding Charles against his chest.

“You brought me flowers,” Charles said, his breath ghosting across Erik’s skin, a trace of amusement in his tone.

“Mmm,” Erik hummed, tracing a finger down Charles’ spine, delighting in the shiver it earned him.

He could hear a blackbird trilling in the dark, falling silent, waiting for an answer, then trilling again.

Charles’ eyes closed under the steady, slow stroke of his hand.  _We should get up_ , Charles’ voice drifted sleepily into his mind.  _Clean ourselves off_. He didn’t move however, instead nuzzling himself closer against Erik, Erik’s fingers tiptoeing up the back of his neck into the tangle of his hair, Charles’ dark eyelashes fluttering slightly against the paleness of his skin.

The single trilling of the blackbird was answered far off in the distance by another.

“ _I love you_ ,” Erik said softly, breathing the words out against Charles’ hair.

Charles stiffened in his arms, shifting against Erik until he was staring him in the eye. “What?”

Erik stared into his eyes that were suddenly wide and searching. “I love you. I thought about you every day,” he said, reaching up to cradle Charles’ head, gently, rubbing against Charles’ dark, tangled hair as Charles made a small sound. “I always have,” Erik admitted, pressing back against Charles’ lips, kissing him softly before murmuring into his mouth, “I promise I always will.”

Charles’ breath hitched, his body trembling in Erik’s hands as he answered, “ _I love you, too_.”

*

Charles led Erik through the dark, knee deep into the cold river alongside the stone cottage where the water ran clear over the rocks, the current slower where the river curved.

Erik drug the cloth gentle and soothing up Charles’ back, up the ridges of his spine, the curve of his neck as he bowed his head to his chest, and into his hair, washing him clean. Charles pressing back into the contact, sighing as Erik began mouthing at his shoulder, the cloth dragging down Charles’ arm, up his side, and across the softness of his belly.

Charles laid his hand over Erik’s, and Erik brought it to his lips, turning Charles’ hand palm up as he kissed each of his fingertips.

Charles turned in his arms, taking the cloth from his hands. “Let me,” he whispered, wringing water out against Erik’s chest while he pressed slow kisses to his lips.

Afterward Charles laid out across his bed, his bottom lip caught firmly between his teeth as Erik settled between his legs, kissing and licking at the freckles scattered over his hipbones, Erik’s teeth grazing his sensitive skin making him shiver, tension building low in his groin.

Charles’ hands reached down to pet through Erik’s hair, whimpering, his foot kicking out at the foot of the bed as Erik’s lips slipped over the head of his flushing cock.

Later in the night Charles lied awake, warm and sated, listening to the close beat of Erik’s heart, the steady rhythm of his breathing, watching the moon drift across the sky.

*

Erik woke to the song of a thrush, his eyes cracking open, trying to focus in the dim grey light streaming in through the windows as he felt across the bed for Charles and found him gone. He bolted to his feet, his heart pounding before he caught sight of Charles’ silhouette outside, his heart slowing again, it was nearly dawn he realized with a sigh, collecting his sleep pants from the floor and tugging them back on.

Charles didn’t speak when Erik wrapped his arms around him from behind, drawing Charles back against his chest, but his consciousness brushed warmly against Erik’s, his fingers curling against Erik’s arm as the sky lightened, his presence in Erik’s mind vibrating in anticipation.

“Charles?” Erik asked curiously.

_I haven't been completely honest with you._

His voice sounded strange inside Erik’s head, Charles hushing him before he could ask about what.

_Wait_ , Charles said.

The sky paled, threaded with soft purple just beneath the clouds. Erik waiting for Charles to tense, for the inevitable pain of the transformation, but it didn’t come. Charles shrugging out of his hold as the clouds glowed pink and orange, the feeble light tripping against his skin.

“Charles,” Erik said his name just as the sunlight finally stretched across the sky, flooding into the clearing, washing everything it touched gold and green, drenching itself over Charles’ ghostly pale skin.

Erik didn’t know what was written on his face as he took a hesitant step closer, watching in shocked silence as Charles touched his own body, running his hands over his naked skin again and again, his eyes wild. His breath shuddered, his eyes catching Erik’s as a sob worked its way past his lips that sounded like Erik’s name.

Erik went to him then, hesitantly touching Charles for himself, wondering if he was dreaming.

“ _No_ ,” Charles answered his thought, suddenly closing the small distance between them to press bruising kisses to Erik’s lips.

Erik caught the flicker of memories: the last time Charles had seen the sun rise, the last time he’d felt its warmth heating his skin, the seawater, the endless damp dark of the forest,  _Sebastian’s curse_. It was moving too fast for Erik to focus on, all of it crumbling away as all Charles’ focus narrowed down to running from the forest right now and to the sea.

“Wait…” Erik said breathlessly as he pulled away.

“I don’t want to wait,” Charles panted, already heading for the door of the cottage. He took enough time to throw on a pair of trousers and his shoes and then he was back out the door.

“Charles!” Erik called, following after him as quickly as he could, back along the river, back through the clearing and into the forest, managing to catch up to him each time Charles slowed long enough to watch the sunlight tiptoe through the dark of the moss or across the rustling leaves.

He didn’t hesitate in breaking past the tree line into the woodland garden, slowing for only a moment to stare up at his mother’s house before he ran across the lawn and down the drive, heading for the lane.

By the time Erik caught up with him again he had reached the seashore and was kicking his shoes away into the sand. All Erik’s teeth baring as his mouth curled into a grin, watching Charles wade into the sparkling seawater, the sunlight covetous on his pale freckled skin, catching in the dark tangles of his hair.

Charles stood waist-deep in the water, the waves crashing into him, foaming and frothing around him, his arms thrown out behind him like wings.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter dedicated to avictoriangirl because I promised her an update FOREVER AGO. Forgive me, lovely and please accept the porn in this chapter as an offering.

It’s only an owl, Charles told himself, willing his heart to slow as he stared up into the tangle of branches overhead, a pair of luminous eyes looking back at him from the dark. Mice scurried around him in the brush, the sweet summer night air drifting drowsily through the leaves. Only an owl. Sebastian was gone but he haunted Charles still.

Erik worried he might have survived after finding only feathers and bone. He’d taken to walking the forest in the mornings, and again in the evenings, to calm his own restless thoughts. To assure himself all was well. Charles knew better. He’d felt Sebastian’s death as acutely as if the knife had been plunged into his own chest. He did not tell Erik this.

Charles looked at his feet instead, his steps quickening over unstable ground and past toppled gravestones, leaving it behind. The stone cottage was close. He heard the owl hoot once, softly, but didn’t look back.

“What kept you?” Erik asked, once he’d stepped through the door and toed off his shoes. “It’s late.”

“Mother. She asked me again to move back into the house.” Charles made a face. “I said no, of course. We had an argument. But there’s one thing she’s right about this time.” He threw an arm outward to the cottage, hopping on one foot to get out of his trousers. “I don’t want to live here anymore.” It was not the first time he had said it.

Erik nodded as he always did, sitting down on the end of the bed, watching Charles undress. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You keep saying that,” Charles said, working on the buttons of his shirt. “She wants to take everyone into London for one of her day trips.” He looked up sharply as Erik made a noise of protest. “ _That_ I agreed to. I want you to come too.”

Erik said nothing, examining his hands rather than look at Charles as Charles had expected. He kicked his trousers away and pulled off his socks. The shirt he left hanging precariously from his shoulders as he moved close into Erik’s space, Erik’s things spreading for him.

“You cannot hide from the world forever,” Charles said, dragging a hand through Erik’s hair, tilting his head back, giving him no choice but to meet Charles’ gaze. “You cannot use me as an excuse.”

“I am not _hiding_.”

“You are,” Charles said. He met with Erik’s instinct to lash out before it had a chance to rise, quelling it. “You wish to be done with the world. You retreat inside yourself. I haven’t asked you for much. But I’m asking for this. Just one day. It would be good for you. It would be good for both of us.”

“London is not as you remember it,” Erik said. “ _The world_ is not as you remember it.”

“I don’t need it to be,” Charles said. He leant to kiss Erik once on his forehead, whispering, “You are not as I remember either. It is not a bad thing.”

Erik made another sound, low in his throat and gripped Charles hard by his sides, pulling him forward. _Distraction_ , Charles thought, but he went willingly, straddling Erik’s lap. Their mouths met before Charles’ knee had even found the bed.

“You wish to be done with the world and keep only me for company,” Charles said against Erik’s mouth.

Erik’s lips curved under his. “It is not a bad thing,” he said.

Charles took fistfuls of Erik’s shirt, tugging it free from Erik’s trousers, sliding his hands underneath to rub his palms against Erik’s chest. “It is,” he said. “I would stay a ghost.” He kissed Erik again, working his way into Erik’s mouth with his tongue, his fingers brushing Erik’s nipples, dragging over his abdomen, the muscles jumping beneath Charles’ touch, before catching on the waistband of Erik’s trousers.

Erik broke their kiss with a gasp. “What do you want?”

“I want to live,” Charles said. “I want you to live too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Erik’s hands skated restlessly up and down Charles’ sides. “Charles,” he said.

Charles undid Erik’s trousers and slid his hand inside. Erik lowered his head, hiding his face against Charles’ shoulder, his mouth open against Charles’ skin, his fingers sliding up Charles’ back to his shoulder, curling there. “I’m happy,” he said, breath hitching as Charles gripped his cock, “with you.”

“I know,” Charles said. “But you need more. We both need more.” He released Erik, pressing a soothing kiss to the side of Erik’s neck when Erik moaned, and gave a firm tug to Erik’s trousers. “Off,” he commanded.

Their lips met again, Charles rising onto his knees as Erik moved backward up the bed, arching his hips and shoving at his trousers, kicking them off fully as Charles sank down on his lap again.

“There’s oil,” Charles said, rolling his hips, “in the pocket of my shirt. Knicked it from the kitchens.” He fumbled at the buttons of Erik’s shirt, Erik’s chest rising and falling unevenly under his hands.

Erik’s long fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him, squeezing at the base, gentle at first, then firmer, more intent as Charles swore and thrust against his hand. Charles’ eyes fluttered closed, dragging open again as Erik panted, “Fuck me,” into his mouth, color flushing down his front, his eyes wild.

Charles’ composure crumbled and collapsed. He nodded, frantic, as Erik’s fingers disappeared in his shirt pocket, finding the little bottle of oil, un-stoppering it and pouring it into his palm. His eyes met Charles’ as he swallowed thickly, licking his lips, his hand sliding the length of Charles’ cock, coating Charles with oil.

Charles inhaled sharply, bowing his head forward, his fingers clenching with bruising force on Erik’s shoulders as Erik thumbed the head of his cock. He rutted shamelessly, wrapping his arms around Erik, using him as leverage , bringing their bodies closer as pressure built at the base of his cock, at the base of his spine, in his limbs, all his muscles pulling taut, a moan stuttering from his lips as Erik released him, grasping his hips instead, thumbs pressing against bone.

“ _Come on_ ,” Erik said in between urgent kisses. “ _Come on_. _Fuck me_.”

He laid back again, Charles climbing gracelessly from his lap, legs shaking, as Erik drew his knees up, spreading them.

Charles fumbled for the bottle of oil, slicking his fingers, Erik’s legs spreading wider as Charles rubbed circles against his entrance with his thumb.

Erik’s eyes screwed shut, his hips rolling against the thin air. Charles pressed lightly with his index finger, delighting in the tremors rippling Erik’s skin.

He rubbed and tapped and pressed until Erik’s body gave under his touch and he slipped his finger inside. He focused on Erik’s face, watching him breathe in and out through his teeth.

“Charles,” Erik hissed, his fingers winding white-knuckled into the sheets. “Move.”

Charles started a gentle back-and-forth rhythm, marveling at the heat, at the way Erik clenched around him, and crooked his finger, stilling again as Erik tipped his head back and cried out.

“Easy,” Charles whispered. “Easy. Breathe. Are you okay? Is this okay?”

“Charles,” Erik panted, shoving impatiently against Charles.

Charles smirked, crooking his finger again, rubbing over that swelling, sensitive spot inside Erik again and again.

Erik’s face contorted with pleasure, his legs jerking and his toes curling.

“Yes?” Charles leant down, not waiting for an answer before taking the dark, wet head of Erik’s cock between his lips.

Above him Erik cried, “Yes!” The word wrenched like a sob from his mouth.

Charles kept pressing with his finger, a steady, blunt, aching pressure against Erik’s prostate, his mind gently brushing and threading with Erik’s, Erik’s thoughts blissfully muted while Charles worked his tongue mercilessly over his cock, driving Erik nearer and nearer to the precipice.

Charles closed his eyes as Erik’s hands tangled in his hair, his fingers digging at Charles’ scalp. With his other hand, Charles stroked himself, lapping at the precome dripping steadily from Erik’s cock before taking him deeper in his mouth.

“Charles,” Erik warned, pulling Charles’ hair, his entire body trembling. “I’m going to – please, please, I need you to –”

Charles pulled off Erik’s cock, breathing harshly, Erik’s fingers releasing their death-grip on his hair, and drew his finger back out slowly, kissing the delicate flesh at the juncture of Erik’s inner thigh, kissing his hip, his navel, his chest, his throat, settling between Erik’s spread thighs, lining himself up and pushing slow and deep into the burning heat of Erik’s body.

He meant to go slow but with the first gentle back-and-forth Erik bucked and gripped his arse cheeks.

“Fast,” Erik panted, winding his legs around Charles and pressing with his heels, pushing and pulling Charles deeper on every thrust.

Charles reached between them, Erik’s cock throbbing in his hand, and shifted the angle of his hips, thrusting faster, then harder as Erik clenched impossibly tight, his mouth fallen open in a silent scream, his whole body seizing up beneath Charles as he spilled between them, the white-hot pleasure burst of his mind and the rhythmic clenching of his body dragging Charles with him over the edge and into the abyss.

An eternity passed before Charles felt able to move, reveling in the heavy, loose feeling in his limbs as he gently untangled himself from Erik and collapsed beside him in a sticky, sweaty heap, his heart still thudding rapid in his chest.

Erik grinned at him, bright and ridiculous. “That was nice.”

Charles snorted and scooted closer to kiss him. Everything around them, between them, inside them felt hazy and soft.

“We should clean up,” Charles said, drawing a finger through the mess painted across Erik’s belly.

Erik’s eyes closed. His body relaxing into the sheets.

“I mean it,” Charles said. “Mother also invited me to breakfast in the morning.” Beside him Erik groaned and Charles smiled. “I agreed to that, too.”

*

“Veterinarian Medicine,” Sharon said, sipping daintily at her tea. “It’s preposterous.”

Erik looked up from buttering a piece of toast to where Ruth was gripping her fork like a weapon, egg tumbling off and onto the table.

“Erik, darling, I don’t know why you won’t speak sense to her,” Sharon went on, oblivious, “she’s your sister. It’s such rough, unsuitable work. And look how lovely she is. The Wickershams’ son has shown a great interest. She would never have to lift a finger.”

“Alden’s agreed to apprentice me,” Ruth said. “Said I can go with him on his rounds.”

“ _Alden_ ,” Sharon said, “that harebrained old man from Bideford.” She looked betrayed. “It was Ernest wasn’t it. He’s the one who put you up to this.”

Charles reached for the bowl of strawberries sitting between his mother and Ruth, sliding it toward himself. He popped one in his mouth. “Who’s Ernest?”

“Stable master,” Cain grunted without looking up from the morning paper. “Alden and him are mates.”

“He didn’t put me up to anything,” Ruth insisted. “I asked for his help and he said Alden was the best. He’ll help prepare me for university.”

Charles grinned at her and raised his glass of orange juice. “We can prepare together.”

Across from Charles, Ruth raised her glass and matched his grin.

“University,” Sharon said to Charles, “oh, how lovely, darling.”

“I intend to see about finding a tutor in London when we go next week,” Charles said, not looking at his mother but at Erik, meeting his gaze and holding it.

“I’ll make sure you have all the best tutors,” Sharon said.

Charles shook his head. “Thank you, but I’d like to do this myself.”

“Oh.” Sharon’s smile flickered, then quickly rearranged itself. “Of course. I understand. I mean it, that’s wonderful. Your father. Your father would have liked that for you.”

Charles smiled faintly and looked down at his tea.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ruth interjected. “For him it’s wonderful but for me it’s preposterous.”

“Ruth,” Sharon sighed, “of course you’ll go to university. I only wish it to be for something more suitable.”

“ _Like finding a husband_ ,” Ruth said.

“You wouldn’t need to bother,” Sharon said, “if you gave the Wickersham boy a chance.”

“I have no interest in the Wickershams’ son, like I told him, and like I’ve told you,” Ruth said. There was a finality in her voice Erik had never heard before. It reminded him of his father. He guessed by the surprised look on Sharon’s face, as if Ruth’s protests were entirely new to her, that she had never heard it before now either.

“Erik,” Sharon said, imploring. “Surely.”

“Sorry,” Erik said, “but she has more sense than me. She always has.”

Ruth beamed at him, her warmest smile that reminded him painfully, briefly, of his mother.

“Honestly,” Sharon said.

“Oh, sod off and let her do what she wants,” Cain said, folding his paper in half and throwing it down on the table.

“ _Cain_ ,” Sharon scolded.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Cain announced, shoving away from the table.

Charles watched him go, then leapt to his feet. “So am I.” He looked at Erik. “Walk with me?”

“You don’t smoke,” Erik said, once they were out in the hall, Ruth and Sharon’s voices fading from hearing.

“No.” Charles said. “But there’s something I want you to do for me and I want us to be alone when you do it.”

Erik’s eyebrows rose hopefully and Charles elbowed him in the side. “Not that. Come with me.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Erik said, following Charles down one hallway, then another, sparing a glance every so often to a portrait of one of Charles’ disapproving ancestors. “The reason for going to London.”

“You’ve known all along I want to go to school,” Charles said. “I told you ages ago.”

Erik nodded. “I know but…” He trailed off, a wave of shame washing over him. _You’ll be living in London_. _You’ll be meeting all new people and each and every one of them will learn how special you are_. _They’ll want you_. _What if you want them?_ _What if you find someone you fit with better than me?_ _What if I lose you?_ _What if you finally realize that I’m_ … I’m selfish, he thought. And possessive. And judging by the way Charles was looking at him, also an idiot.

“The biggest,” Charles said fondly, stopping just outside the grand double doors of the music room. Erik hadn’t even realized this was where Charles was leading him until they were there. “But I’m afraid,” Charles said, smiling, “there’s a bit more to it than that.” He pushed open the doors, motioning Erik inside.

“More to what?” Erik asked, slowly stepping inside, watching Charles close and lock the doors.

“My wanting to go to London,” Charles said. He turned, licked his lips. “There’s a school. The Royal Academy of Music.”

Erik’s gaze flitted from the piano back to Charles. Then to the forest outside. “I can’t,” he said, looking at a knotted tree rather than at Charles.

“Erik.” Charles’ voice was gentle.

“When I first came back here,” Erik said, “I thought I could go back to being that person. But I… I keep trying to find him and I can’t. The things I’ve done, Charles.” 

Charles was coming close. Closer. Erik knew it without having to look.

“I know what you’ve done,” Charles said. He was behind Erik, his breath on Erik’s neck. He took Erik by the shoulders and turned him toward the piano.

“You promised me once,” Charles said, “that you would.”

Erik’s breath trembled out of him. “I played again in France. Chopin’s Tristesse. I played it for Raven and Hank.”

“I know,” Charles said, kissing his neck. “Now play for me.”

“It was you I was thinking of,” Erik said, helpless.

He felt Charles’ lips curve against his skin and then his feet were moving before he’d given them permission, carrying him forward, his gaze sweeping his own reflection in the gleaming mahogany before landing on the ivory keys. Sunlight dappled through the trees, everything golden and green, Charles moving in and out of shadows as he slowly walked the edge of the room, intent on the forest outside, giving Erik his space.

Erik hesitantly touched the keys, the sound reverberating through him, filling him, singing silvery and exultant into the silence. It felt like a welcome. He shivered. It wasn’t like Hank and Raven’s medium grand piano, this one was different, this one felt like it belonged to him.

“It does,” Charles said, his back turned to Erik. Erik shivered again.

He slid down onto the bench, his feet finding the pedals. He hovered just over the keys, not touching, and looked at Charles, the golden sunlight lending a halo to Charles’ dark hair, dust motes glittering around him. There was a piece tucked carefully away in Erik’s memory, one that his frozen fingers had tripped out into the empty air where no one could see in the winter forests of Poland.

If he closed his eyes he could hear the notes, could practically see them changing colors.

His fingers sank into the keys, drawing out the sweetly soft notes, an image blooming in his mind: tranquil water rippling in the wake of a swan.

He let himself drift, the gentle notes repeating themselves steadily until it wasn’t sunlight but moonlight shifting through the leaves, the room filling up with stars.

He felt Charles watching him, could feel the air stir as he came closer. The notes cascaded around him like water, then rose on feathery wings yearning for the sky.

Charles was behind him, the notes dripping one by one like raindrops, rippling into silence, his fingers sliding over the top of Erik’s. There was no sound now but their breathing. Erik’s eyes were still closed but they opened as the piano let out a jarring noise; Charles’ elbow hitting the keys as he climbed onto Erik’s lap. Charles laughed against his mouth.

“Charles.” His name was a sigh on Erik’s lips.

Charles shushed him, tracing the delicate lines at the corners of Erik’s eyes with the tips of his fingers, ghosting over his cheek, the contour of his jaw, his slackened mouth before threading into his hair and kissing him again.

Erik brought his hands up, tugging Charles’ hair out of place. Charles hummed happily against his lips, his hips shifting against Erik’s.

“I  _knew_  you wanted this,” Erik gasped, laughing as Charles bit his bottom lip and pressed down against Erik’s groin.

“Shut up,” Charles said, rolling his hips. He was already hard. Erik suspected he had been for some time.

Erik kissed him, Charles’ mouth opening under his. Erik’s own cock twitching as Charles snuck a hand between their bodies to rub at Erik through his trousers.

The kiss deepened, Charles moaning as Erik slid a hand up under his shirt and thumbed his nipple.

Charles broke away with an impatient sound, his hand squeezing Erik’s cock. “I want you.”

Erik nodded, holding Charles’ sides while Charles’ hands jarred the piano keys again, lifting himself up so Erik could slide out from under him.

Erik lowered himself to his knees in front of Charles. Charles licked his lips, inhaled shakily and nodded, reading Erik’s intent. He undid his trousers and gripped the edge of the piano bench, lifting his hips.

Erik reached for him, hooking the waistband of his trousers and underwear and pulling them down together. Charles’ cock sprang free, heavy and already damp at the head.

Charles lowered his hips back down slowly, settling on the piano bench, spreading his legs as Erik moved between them. He shuddered as Erik gripped his cock and slowly unsheathed him.

“ _This_ ,” Erik said, leaning down, his breath hitting Charles’ cock, “is why you locked you door.”

Charles’ fingers curled on the piano bench, his feet rising up onto the tips of their toes, a laughter filled gasp leaving him as Erik licked over the head of his cock.

Erik pumped him slowly, breathing in the faint musky smell of him, swallowing around the head before taking Charles deeper. He heard Charles inhale sharply, a shaking hand threading into Erik’s hair.

Erik stroked Charles intermittently, rubbing circles against the base of Charles’ cock with his thumb as he pulled off, licking and sucking the head, Charles letting out little keening noises above him, his hips moving rhythmically.

Erik’s tongue flicked against his slit and Charles’ breath stuttered out of him with a startled, “ _Oh_.”

Erik swallowed around him again, his hands on Charles’ thighs, and settled into a rhythm, his head bobbing up and down on Charles’ cock. Charles had both hands in Erik’s hair now, tugging and kneading at his scalp, his legs moving under Erik’s hands, spreading wider.

Erik pulled off again, kissing the tip of Charles’ cock, precome smearing on his lips. He licked them, feeling how swollen they were, tasting Charles on his tongue.

He was painfully hard, his untouched cock straining impatiently against his trousers. He leant back down between Charles’ legs, retaking the head of Charles’ cock between his lips, curling his tongue against the underside and Charles’ slit.

“Fuck,” Charles said, the word high and needy, his arms buckling, tipping his upper body back as his hips jerked forward.

Erik grinned, cupping Charles’ balls, squeezing gently. He swallowed Charles down again, then drew back to suck on the head, his tongue flicking again and again against the achingly sensitive slit before giving a broader swipe to the underside of the head.

“God,” Charles choked out, his lips bitten red, his hair a mess, his spine arched, his head tipped back, exposing his throat. He spread his legs impossibly wider, his nails digging into Erik’s scalp while his other hand was under his shirt, pinching his own nipples. He looked obscene. Erik was going to paint him, just like that, with the green, green, green of the forest exploding around him.

His own cock throbbed, his hips rocking against nothing, needing friction.

His fingers curled around the base of Charles’ cock, moving in time to the bobbing of his head as he swallowed around Charles’ cock, his throat fluttering.

Charles was pulling on his hair, tugging him back even as his hips jerked forward, seeking more. “Erik.” His voice was wrecked, he made a noise low in his throat, his lashes fluttering. He swallowed, tried again. “Erik, I’m close.”

Erik groaned and pressed his palm against his own erection, willing his heartbeat to slow so he could focus. He gripped the back of Charles’ knees, kissing the top of his thigh. Charles’ fingers kneaded in his hair, small, needy sounds escaping him on every harsh exhale. A tremor ran through him, his stomach clenching as he doubled forward, his legs shaking under Erik’s hands, his cock jerked, leaking heavily.

Erik pressed his lips to the heat of the inside of Charles’ thigh, sucking a mark against the pale flesh. Charles moaned and shook again in his hands.

Erik kissed the darkening spot he’d made and looked up. Charles’s mouth was slack, his breathing coming fast and hard. His eyes when they met Erik’s were as dark as Erik had ever seen them.

Erik laid a hand against Charles’ belly, the muscles jumping at his touch, then slid down, his fingers tugging through Charles’ dark pubic hair before curling loosely again around the base of his cock.

Charles whimpered, his grip on Erik’s hair tightening. Erik kissed his knee, his thigh, then with measured slowness took Charles back into his mouth.

It took only two deft curls of Erik’s tongue and Charles gave a hoarse, startled cry, spilling in Erik’s mouth, his fingers wound painfully tight in Erik’s hair, his hips bucking up from the piano bench.

Tears leaked from the corners of Erik’s eyes and he choked, gripping Charles hard by his hips to still him, sucking him through his orgasm and swallowing everything Charles gave him. He kept working him with his tongue until it became too much. Charles made a soft sound, still of pleasure but threaded with pain and Erik withdrew, the taste of Charles briny and bitter, thick on his tongue.

He felt oddly satisfied even as his own cock still throbbed painfully, begging to be touched.

Charles slid in a boneless heap from the bench to the floor, his trousers tangled around his ankles. He looked at Erik, a dopey grin on his face. His chest rose and fell rapidly, color high on his cheeks and between his splayed legs.

Erik leaned into him, pressing his forehead against Charles’

“Tell me,” Charles said, shivering, and Erik loved how shattered he sounded, “what to do.” His hand soothed through Erik’s hair. “Tell me.” Erik reached for his other hand and brought it between his legs.

He watched Charles fumble with his trousers, Erik’s cock springing hot and leaking against Charles’ fingers. Erik moaned, his head drooping to Charles’ shoulder where he nosed against the soft fabric of Charles’ shirt and closed his eyes.

Charles was petting his hair again, his other hand curling loose around Erik’s cock, tightening when Erik’s hips jerked and he moaned again, clutching a fistful of Charles’ shirt.

He was already so, so close and Charles’ fingers were wonderfully tight, stroking Erik from root to tip, then back again, the motion quicker and tighter on each pass until all Erik’s muscles were gathering, the tension winding together to a single point.

“Charles,” he groaned, his eyes clenching shut. “ _Charles_.” And he was unraveling, his body shuddering as his orgasm rolled through him, Charles coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from him.

When Erik opened his eyes, Charles was watching him fondly, wiping his hand against the front of his shirt.

“I have to change now because of you,” Charles said, amusement in his stare. “You’ve ripped the buttons off my shirt.”

Erik uncurled his fist from Charles’ shirt and two of the buttons came away in his hand. He didn’t know why but he started laughing and after a moment so did Charles.

They sat slumped together against the bench, Erik’s head on Charles’ shoulder, Charles combing through his hair.

“I know you still want it,” Charles said after a time. “Why are you punishing yourself by denying it?”

Erik didn’t know what to tell him. That playing felt too revealing, that it made him feel too vulnerable and he hated feeling vulnerable. That he wasn’t good enough. That he couldn’t bear to fail. He couldn’t bear to fail at anything ever again. In the end all he said was, “The world isn’t kind.”

Charles sighed and shifted closer. “What’s it called? The piece you played for me.”

Erik closed his eyes again, letting Charles stroke his hair, breathing in the comforting scent of him. “The Swan.”

*

It was getting chillier, London dressed all in greys and Erik copper gold in the middle of it all. Charles leaned against the brick wall of a drug store watching him, a flare of sunlight catching him as he looked across the street where rubble from the Blitz still stood.

“I’ve been thinking,” Charles said. “About what to do now that I have my inheritance.” Erik turned his head, looking at Charles over his shoulder. “I was thinking, that maybe after I get settled with schooling, after  _we both_  get settled,” Erik made a noise and turned back to the rubble; he still hadn’t agreed. Charles pressed on regardless. “That we could get a house. There’s this cottage Ruth told me about. Close to the sea with hardly no one else around. It belonged to Alden’s mother. He’s selling it. I thought maybe we could. That we could…”

“What about your mother?” Erik asked.

“She thinks it’s delightful,” Charles said. “But entirely too small. Her exact words.”

“No.” Erik shook his head. He turned finally, walking back to where Charles stood. “I mean us living together. She doesn’t know.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, throwing a cautious glance to the pair of young women that passed them. “About us.”

Charles tilted his head quizzically. “We live together now.”

“And what does she think about it?” Erik asked, his voice tight with impatience.

“I don’t know, she…” Charles pushed away from the wall. “She thinks we get on  _really_  well.” Erik gave a derisive snort. “She thinks we’re like brothers,” Charles said. “What does it matter?”

Erik stared at him. “And when we move into your seaside cottage? And years from now when we live there still? When neither of us has married? What will she think then? What will anyone think?”

“ _Erik_.”

Erik was moving, his strides surprisingly quick given his limp. Charles hurried to catch up.

“I have  _seen_  what happens,” Erik said, “when people like us get found out.”

His mind turned stormy: pink triangle badges, bodies twisted and burnt, Erik’s own kills stacked one atop the other like a mountain for Erik to climb. He was thinking of Sebastian and  _you’d be eaten alive the moment anyone discovered you for what you are._  He was thinking of all the carnage he’d been witness to finding its way to Charles. He would start a war of his own if anything happened to Charles.

Charles flinched, stopping dead on his feet. “I’m not afraid,” he said.

“You should be,” Erik hissed, spinning around. “It’s us against them. And I don’t know if you realize this, but there are a lot of  _them_.”

“Been doing a bit of thinking yourself,” Charles said.

“It won’t happen again,” Erik said, his gaze turning inward to something Charles couldn’t see. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant and Charles didn’t ask.

“I can protect myself,” Charles said. His voice was gentle. His touch on Erik’s arm was gentler still. He half expected Erik to pull away from the touch, there out in the open where anyone could see. Erik didn’t.

“We shouldn’t have to hide,” Charles said, his lips twitching as he realized how badly Erik wanted to lean into his touch. “I’ve done enough hiding for ten lifetimes.”

Erik’s mind roiled. Charles smiled at him sadly. “We’ll be careful. I promise.”

A door swung open a little further up the sidewalk, a man wearing a derby with a paper tucked under one arm stepping out, sparing them a glance, then moving on in the opposite direction. Charles’ hand fell from Erik’s arm. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

Erik’s gaze slid away from him, then came back again, hooded. “You.”

Charles exhaled, the knot in his chest loosening. “You have me.”

*

They were nearly back to Paddington Station, where Sharon and Ruth waited for them, the setting sun washing the cobblestoned streets red. The night felt cool and close, the scent of roast chicken wafting on the air as they passed by a noisy pub.

Charles wrapped his arms around himself, university brochures clutched tight to his chest. A small crowd had formed around them; travelers heading out of the city for the night, all making their way toward the station. There was a kind of drowsy hum to their minds as they brushed past Charles, not unlike the dull mingling of voices in a restaurant.

He let himself be lulled, drifting closer to Erik, their shoulders touching, the action lost in the crowd as the entrance to Paddington Station loomed closer. He looked sideways at Erik, a small smile hooking the corner of his mouth. He gave little attention to those around him. He gave littler attention to the traffic as they crossed the street, barely flinching when a noisy two-seater backfired on its way past, the sound ringing like a gunshot.

Erik went rigid beside him, causing a judder in the flow of people around him, his eyes unfocused and his breathing gone shallow.

“Erik?”

Later when Charles reflected on it he would marvel at how small a thing it was: simply a car backfiring in the street. But it left Erik quaking, reaching blindly for something, anything, to defend himself with.

The lampposts leaned towards them. A car swerved up onto the sidewalk, crashing into a fire hydrant.

Charles gripped Erik’s arm, digging his fingers in hard. “Stop.” It was a request that quickly turned into a command as the grating sound of something large shifting dangerously filled his ears, the ground shuddering. “Erik,  _stop_!”

Everyone was staring at them. Erik still reached out to nothing, Charles’ white-knuckled grip on him hard enough to bruise. The lampposts bent nearly to the ground. “Calm your mind,” Charles said. Then again.  _Calm your mind_. He repeated the words again and again like a mantra that only Erik could hear.

There was confusion etched onto the faces of the onlookers gathering around them. And fear. A mother held tight to the hand of her child, her face clouding with something like horror as she stared at the lampposts, at the crashed car, and back to the pair of them. Her mouth was forming words that got lost in the sudden hornet’s nest buzzing of the crowd.

Charles closed his eyes, made himself breathe in, out. When he opened his eyes again they all appeared to be awakening from a trance, the tension in their stares slackening, their gazes foggy. They turned as one and kept walking. Charles’ grip on Erik’s arm grew impossibly tighter as he pulled him along after them into the station.

Erik looked at him, confusion knitting his brow, his breaths rattling in his chest. “What did you do?”

“I altered their memories.” Charles’ voice was so soft he thought Erik might not hear him. “Erased them. Convinced them they saw nothing.”

“I didn’t know you could do that. Change minds.” There was anxiety in his voice, Charles could hear it even as he felt it roll off Erik in a wave.

Charles glanced at him quickly, he could see his mother waving to them up ahead. He hated that he had to ask. Hated that he desperately needed the answer. “Are you afraid of me now?”

Erik swallowed, his breaths were coming slower. He looked uncertain and Charles felt his stomach tie itself into a knot. Erik swallowed again, looked at Charles and shook his head.

“No. No, I’m not afraid.”

Charles almost sagged with relief. It was the truth.

*

He was choking on the smoke and ash. He was naked. His limbs felt weighted down. They trembled, screaming for him to move but he could not. He smelt the charred flesh, could taste it in the back of his throat, and his stomach lurched violently. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He was either dying or already dead.

“Erik?”

Someone said his name.

 _The dead don’t speak_ , he told them.

“ _Erik_!”

He jerked awake when Charles touched him, shivering, drenched in a cold sweat.

“It’s okay,” Charles whispered. He soothed a hand against Erik’s forehead, through his hair.

“Charles?” Erik’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth.

“You had a nightmare,” Charles said. “It’s okay.”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. He could still see the burnt dead. He was awake but the vision wouldn’t leave him.

He flinched at Charles’ hands on his shoulders, exhaling shakily as Charles straddled his lap and drew the blankets up around them, pressing his warm nakedness all down Erik’s front, holding him close. Erik wrapped his arms tight around Charles, burying his face against Charles’ sleep-warm shoulder. He took a deep breath, then another, gulping in the scent of Charles, reminding himself where he was.

“I can still see it,” he said. His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“I have you,” Charles said, tipping his head back, pressing kisses to his face. “You’re okay.”

“I can’t make it go away.”

Charles kissed his lips and slowly reached between his legs, gently taking Erik’s cock. Erik made a sound and bowed his neck, resting his forehead on Charles’ shoulder, watching Charles slowly stroke him to hardness.

They’d done this once already, earlier in the night. Charles fucking him from behind while Erik knelt on his hands and knees. He could still feel the pleasant ache of it.

Charles cupped the back of his head, kissed his hair. “With me?”

Erik nodded and Charles leaned, reaching for the nightstand. He found the bottle of oil they kept by the bed. Another tremor wracked Erik’s limbs as Charles un-stoppered it, slicking his fingers first, then Erik’s cock.

Erik bit down on his lip, watching the motion of Charles’ hand, trying to focus on the pleasurable feel of it and nothing else. A tiny sound escaped him as Charles withdrew his hand, and he bit down harder on his lip to silence it.

“Hey,” Charles murmured, gently thumbing Erik’s lip free from his teeth. “You’re okay.”

Erik swallowed. Charles rubbed himself with a slick finger, his brow knitting with concentration, the movements of his wrist rhythmic. Erik’s mouth felt dry. Charles gave a tiny, almost pained sound. Erik’s cock twitching, his eyes sliding closed.

“Erik,” Charles said against his temple and they fluttered back open. Charles took his cock again, giving it a gentle squeeze before lifting his weight from Erik’s lap, lining himself up and with a slowness that ached, lowered himself back down on the head of Erik’s cock.

Erik buried his face back against Charles’ shoulder, his fingers twisting into the blanket thrown over Charles’ back, all his focus narrowing to the pressure on his cock, to the heat enveloping him as Charles took him inch by inch, burying Erik to the hilt, drawing him back to his own body, to the here and now.

He felt Charles’ heart skipping in his chest, could feel it in all the places where they joined. There was no sound but their breathing; Erik’s rough and uneven and Charles’ deliberately measured, slow. They stayed like that, frozen in place, suspended.

“I love you,” Charles whispered.

Erik raised his head to look at him. Charles’ lips were slightly parted, his bottom lip shiny. His eyes were half closed, his hair mussed from sleep. He had a pillow crease on one cheek. He was the most beautiful sight Erik had even seen.

Their foreheads pressed together, Charles kissing him, again and again, exhaling his breath into Erik’s mouth.

It was easier now, to forget, just for a moment, with the impossible heat of Charles, with the incredible thrumming pressure of him. He clenched around Erik and sparks raced up Erik’s spine. Erik moaned, a breathless, desperate sound, and Charles did it again. And again. His cock leaving a trail of slick on Erik’s skin as he fell into a rhythm, rocking himself slowly back and forth on Erik’s cock, his arms looped loosely around Erik’s shoulders.

The tension already present in Erik grew, gathering itself in his groin, winding tighter with each roll of Charles’ hips, with each hitch of Charles’ breath as Erik’s cock brushed his prostate. Sparks of pleasure zipping up Erik’s spine, down his legs, curling his toes, his breath loud and ragged.

Charles plunged down harder on Erik’s cock, letting out a strangled cry, moving a hand to his own cock.

Erik’s gut clenched. His balls felt heavy and full. It wouldn’t take much. He clutched Charles tighter, sliding his hands down Charles’ back to grip his arse, spreading Charles’ cheeks and thrusting up into the staggering heat of him as Charles’ rhythm faltered.

Erik’s head pounded in time with his heart. He was so close, crying out harshly with each upward thrust.

“Erik,” Charles cried, high and ruined, his face twisting, his body going rigid. And then he was clenching achingly tight, his cock spilling, pulsing blood-hot between them.

“ _Oh_ ,” Erik groaned.

Charles deliberately clenched again, stifling a weak moan against Erik’s shoulder. A noise like a sob wrenching free from Erik’s throat as he jerked in Charles’ arms, reveling in the drumming heat in his groin and the blissful, wet slide of his thrusts as he spurted his release deep in Charles’ body, losing himself to the pleasure crashing through him, his thoughts scattering, floating away.

When he came back to himself Charles was slumped limply in his arms, his breath damp on Erik’s shoulder, the heady scent of them and what they had just done thick in the air. Erik held him tight, burying his face in Charles’ sweaty hair, shivering with the last waning aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Okay?” Charles asked. He sounded tired.

Erik squeezed him tighter. He didn’t want to let go or pull out. “I love you,” he said, the words near silent, mouthed more than spoken into Charles’ hair. Tears pricked his eyes. He could do nothing to stop them falling. “No matter what, I love you. I promised and I meant it. And if anything happens to you…”

Charles was quiet a long moment, breathing in Erik’s arms. “I know,” he said at last, his hand soothing up and down Erik’s spine. “I know.”

“I love you,” Erik said again, helpless.

Charles kissed his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

*

_1947, November, Devonshire, England_

Erik sat at the bottom of the grand staircase, inclining his head, watching Kurt scamper higher and higher up the railing. He leapt to his feet, his stomach lurching as at the very top of the stairs, Kurt suddenly let go of the railing and plummeted with a happy yell to the marble floor below. He vanished with a whip crack into thin air seconds before he struck bottom.

Erik stared at the place where he’d been, turning with a start at the same tell-tale whip crack behind him and saw Kurt hanging from his father’s shoulders.

Sharon, who had been offering Raven a raisin tea biscuit stifled a shriek against the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” Hank said. “Should have warned everyone about that.”

“How wonderful,” Charles laughed. He looked at Erik. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

Erik sank back down on the bottom stair, his heart slowly resuming its normal pace. “Yes. Very.”

“He can be a handful,” Hank said.

“It must have been difficult travelling with him,” Charles said.

“It was,” Raven said. “I had to keep him all swaddled up. He’s too big for it and it makes him fussy. But what else can I do.”

“You’ll school him at home?” Charles asked.

Raven nodded. “We don’t have a choice.”

Kurt vanished and reappeared again, this time perching on Sharon’s shoulders. Sharon gasped and stiffened, then started to laugh.

“I can take him,” Raven said, reaching for him.

“No,” Sharon said, coaxing Kurt into her arms. “It’s all right.” Once she held Kurt securely she asked Raven, “How long do you intend to stay in England?”

“Two weeks,” Raven said. “Hank’s father moved to Lydford after the war. He wants to see his grandson.”

“And you’ll be staying with him?” Sharon asked.

“Yes,” Hank said.

“Small house?” Sharon asked. “Cramped? Lydford is so quaint.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Charles said.

Sharon looked at him, baffled, perpetually oblivious. “I only meant that they might prefer staying here. Ruth and I get so few visitors and the house is so large. And now with the girl always off looking after goats or chickens and whatever else.” She looked at Erik as if this last were his fault before directing her gaze back on Raven. “Please, I insist.”

Hank looked at Raven, hesitating. “But your son,” he said.

Sharon looked from Charles to Hank, one dainty eyebrow raising.

“Your  _other_  son,” Hank said.

Cain had strode into the room earlier, catching sight of Kurt crawling spider-like up the wall, and spun on his heel, walking right back out again without a word.

“Oh,” Sharon said, smiling at Kurt. “Don’t worry about him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Charles said, grinning devilishly.

“I – I’m all right with it if you are,” Hank said to Raven.

Raven looked at her son wriggling in Sharon’s arms, at Sharon’s pleading expression. “All right,” she said, sounding faintly uncertain.

“Perfect,” Sharon said brightly. “I’ll show you to your room, help you get settled. Send someone out to the car to fetch your things.”

She walked past Erik and up the stairs, taking Kurt with her. Raven looked back at Hank quickly before following after her.

Charles watched her go. “She gets lonely,” he told Hank.

“Yes, I can see that,” Hank said. He looked at Charles, his expression studious. “It’s nice to finally meet you by the way, in the flesh. Especially after seeing so much of you in Erik’s drawings.”

Erik felt his face heat.

Charles met Erik’s eyes and smiled before turning back to Hank. “It’s nice to finally meet you, too.”

“You’re only the second telepath I’ve met,” Hank said.

“So I’ve heard,” Charles said. “I meant to ask, after seeing your wife’s natural form and hearing about your – your um”

“Physical mutation,” Hank supplied. “I’ve been researching it. Us.” He looked at Erik. “I think I’m closer to being able to answer some of your questions.”

“I’ve been researching it too,” Charles said. “In fact I’ll be studying Genetics and Biophysics next fall.”

“At what university?” Hank asked.

“Oxford,” Charles said.

“Oxford,” Hank repeated. “You have to meet her then. She’s at St. Hilda’s college.”

“Who?” Erik asked, sitting up straighter.

“Frost,” Hank said. “I studied with her in Paris. She was the other telepath I told you about, Erik. She’s like you, Charles. Well not like you, but same mutation. You catch my meaning. They say she’s the brightest in her field.”

“I’ll look her up,” Charles said.

“I’m sure you won’t have to,” Hank said. “If I know her, she’ll find you. Her range is – incredible.”

“So is Charles’,” Erik said. “He’s been able to read people as far as London before.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hank said.

Charles was smiling at Erik, shaking his head fondly. “What I meant to ask you, Hank,” he said, “is given your research do you think it would be possible to find them? The others out there like us. Like your son, with physical mutations. With my telepathy?”

The excitement of possibility lit up Hank’s face. “I was wondering the exact same thing.”

*

Erik stood in the cold, beneath a clouded moon, the snow falling heavy and wet around him, dampening his shoulders and hair as he watched Ruth through the back window of his and Charles’ new cottage. Her lips formed a curse and she gave a dirty look to the burnt brisket in front of her before tucking her hair behind her ears and taking the casserole dish of noodle kugel from Charles and sliding it into the stove. They still needed to fry the latkes and doughnuts which Erik had promised to do later.

It was their first time celebrating Chanukah since being sent from Poland. It felt like a lifetime ago to Erik. One that belonged to another person. He only observed the holiday at all because Ruth insisted.

He shifted on his feet, his leg aching as it often did now in the damp or in the cold. It was quiet, the wind gentle on his face, bringing with it the smell of salt, the only sound the waves rolling against the sand. He and Charles had enough property to be left alone, their cottage sitting on a hill overlooking the sea.

Charles laughed at something Ruth said and Erik felt an ache in his chest. The light from the menorah flickered against the snow. Erik made it himself, not because he wanted to but because Ruth had asked him. She was the one who had lit it.

There were notes tripping over each other in his head. He closed his eyes, rearranging them. Would his parents have been proud of him? He had only the hushed static of the sea for an answer.

“Yes,” Charles said. He was standing behind Erik in their frozen garden. Erik hadn’t heard him come outside.

Erik reached for him, pulling him close when he was near enough to touch, taking Charles’ fingers with his own and kissing the back of his hand.

“Trying to catch a cold?” Charles asked. He took Erik’s hand between both of his, searching his eyes. “You’re freezing.”

Erik smiled. “I’ll come in in a minute.”

“Come in now,” Charles said. He rose up on his toes, gently kissing Erik’s cheek, over the cold, wet track of Erik’s tears. Erik hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

Erik exhaled shakily, nodding and kissing Charles on the tip of his nose before placing another on his lips.

He didn’t recite the Hebrew prayers but later that night he mouthed them against Charles’ naked skin.

*

_1948, July, Devonshire, England_

“I had no idea,” Erik said, smiling down at his sketchbook, “that you were this terrible a model.”

Charles threw him an imperious look. “You drape yourself naked on this splintery dock for an hour then and I’ll draw you.”

“I’m almost done,” Erik said. He looked at his work. Looked back up at Charles. “It’s a poor comparison. And I should have used watercolor. Or oil.” He shook his head. “Something with color.”

Sunlight dappled Charles’ freckled, sun-warm skin and tangled in his hair. The shifting patterns of leaves darkening one side of his face. Erik leaned back against the smooth trunk of their single beech tree and stared.

Charles arched an eyebrow. “Can I see it?”

Charles on paper was smooth graphite lines and smudges of charcoal. A gentle slope for his ribs. More angular strokes for his lower abdomen and pelvis. The sharp jut of a hipbone. The shadow beneath one outturned thigh.

“No,” Erik said, and went back to work, ignoring Charles’ petulant sigh. “Try holding still.”

“I am holding still.”

“You haven’t held still since I started,” Erik said, studying the Charles in his sketchbook. He needed more shading.

When he looked up at the real, impatient Charles on the dock he found  _that_  Charles had parted his legs obscenely. Erik laughed. “To think a moment ago I was comparing you to one of Bouguereau’s angels.”

Charles gave a wicked smile. “Think we’ll get any visitors today?”

Erik snorted, laying down the softest, feathery lines. “I should dearly hope not.”

“Oh?” Charles said. “Intend to have your dirty way with me here on this dock where any poor old fisherman might see?”

“There’s nothing on the water today,” Erik said. “And I’ve already had my dirty way with you on that dock.”

“Yes, that’s right, Charles said. “I’d forgotten.” He sounded far too smug and Erik knew without having to look that he was touching himself. “Have you drawn this bit yet?” he asked.

Sure enough, when Erik looked, Charles had his cock in hand. “ _Charles_ ,” he warned.

His pencil paused against the paper, Erik watching as Charles’ hand, the one that seconds ago had been thrown languid and careless above Charles’ head, now crept along Charles’ skin, pinching one budded nipple before sliding down over his belly while with his other, he slowly, teasingly, pumped himself to an erection. He shivered as he unsheathed himself. Erik swallowed thickly. Charles’ eyes never left his.

“You –” The words got caught in Erik’s throat. He clenched his fingers tight around his pencil.

 _Yes?_  Charles sounded amused. His cock strained toward his belly, proud and flushed, a bead of precome at the slit.

“You’re beautiful,” Erik said.

Charles’ head tipped back against the dock with a small thud, his mouth fallen open on a breathy laugh as slowly, slowly, he started to move, small undulations of his hips, his cock sliding back and forth through his fist.

Erik groaned at the sight. His sketchbook and pencil fell from his hands as he pushed himself up and closed the few short paces between him and Charles on the dock.

Charles’ eyes fell closed as Erik knelt beside him. Erik placed his palm flat against Charles’ belly, Charles’ quickened breaths hitching at the warm touch, his teeth capturing his bottom lip as he gave a squeeze to the head of his cock.

Erik leaned down, his mouth finding Charles’ nipple. Charles’ lips flew open with a startled gasp, his breath shuddering as Erik worried his nipple with his teeth, then licked and sucked him to soothe the sting. Tiny, bitten off sounds broke past Charles’ teeth as Erik laved first one nipple, then the other. When Erik pulled back again, Charles’ fair skin had gone a brilliant shade of pink, his muscles rippling beneath his skin.

He caught Charles’ wrist, stilling the frantic back-and-forth motion on his cock. Charles shivered, moaning in complaint. His eyes were two blue slits staring up at Erik, his bottom lip swollen and red. The soft breeze ruffled his hair, splayed dark against the dock’s pale wood.

For a moment all Erik did was stare, drinking in the sight of him. A cloud crossed in front of the sun, the light darkening, then brightening again as it passed.

Erik pressed down on Charles’ belly and Charles moaned again, his hips jerking. Erik inhaled and exhaled forcibly, his own cock strained painfully in his trousers.

He turned his head, movement in the water catching his attention, a wicked idea seizing him when he saw what it was.

A swan feather floated in the drowsy current beside the dock, Erik catching it before it passed beneath them. He held it in front of Charles for him to see.

“What,” Charles laughed breathlessly, “are you planning to do with that?”

Erik grinned at him, sharp and wolfish. He took both of Charles’ wrists, pinning them with one hand above his head and straddled his legs. Charles’ cock twitched, precome dribbling down the length.

With his other hand, Erik brought the tip of the feather to the underside of Charles’ cock, and starting at the root, drew it gently upward, through the leaking precome, to the slit.

Charles writhed beneath him, his hips jerking as he inhaled raggedly, Erik swirling the tip of the feather around the head of his cock, keeping Charles teetering on the very edge of climax, his face contorting with exquisite agony, so close to but not quite able to come.

There was a word on Charles’ lips that he couldn’t quite get off his tongue, his mouth opening and closing, opening again. His eyes when they met Erik’s were desperate. His limbs shivering with tension.

Erik stilled his hand. “Charles?” he asked, voice rough, shot through with lust.

 _Please_. Just the single word inside Erik’s head. Charles’ hands spasmed under his hold.

Erik dropped the feather and took Charles’ cock, stroking to the root. He rubbed his thumb firmly against the head, Charles’ neck arching back, his mouth falling open with a guttural cry as he spilled in Erik’s warm, engulfing hand. Erik kept stroking him, drawing it out until Charles gave a weak moan, shifting his hips, and Erik went still.

Charles panted to catch his breath, staring up at Erik with half-lidded eyes, his body turning pliant under Erik’s hands as he stroked gently up and down Charles’ sides.

“Okay?” Erik asked.

Charles nodded, smiling faintly. “That was… I liked it.”

Erik exhaled slowly and grinned.

Charles pushed himself up onto his elbows, studying Erik closely. “What about you? You haven’t come yet.”

“I should do something about that,” Erik said, undoing his trousers, stifling a groan as his leaking cock sprang out against his hand. He lifted himself up onto his knees, leaning over Charles, supporting himself with one hand flat against the warm dock while with his other he began stroking himself, his cock slick with precome.

Charles’ lips formed an _o_ of understanding. He laid himself flat again, wearing the smug grin from earlier as Erik gasped above him, his hand moving with ruthless speed up and down the length of his cock.

Charles cupped his face, stroking Erik’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I think later,” he said, pushing Erik’s hair back where it’d fallen in his eyes, “I’d like to bend you over the table and fuck you. Watch my cock stretching you open while you beg me for more.”

Erik’s arm buckled, nearly toppling him as he cried out, his cock spurting hard over Charles’ chest, his collarbones, his throat.

Charles made a soft sound, like he’d been holding his breath and had only just now released it. He blinked up at Erik, his eyes dark, looking lazy and utterly debauched, come spattered up his front, as Erik panted and shook, limbs unsteady as he crumpled beside Charles in a heap. He closed his eyes and breathed, reaching for Charles’ hand, pulling it to his chest and twining their fingers together.

He must have dozed because when he opened his eyes next, Charles was sitting beside him, stroking his hair. He smiled at Erik, soft and impossibly fond, the shirt he’d taken off earlier hanging loose over his shoulders. He was wet, his hair dripping onto his shoulders, the wood beneath him damp, suggesting he’d slipped into the sea while Erik had been asleep. He had Erik’s sketchbook in his hand.

“I want to see it,” he said.

Erik pushed himself up with a grimace. He felt stiff. Charles flipped open his sketchbook to the most recent page, looking at Erik to see if he objected. Erik didn’t. He watched Charles’ face.

Charles touched Erik’s drawing with the tip of one gentle finger, tracing over the lines. He smiled and looked up at Erik, his eyes dazzling in the sunlight.

Erik had given him wings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Camille Saint-Saens : The Swan - Piano Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwYDf8V2AfY)
> 
> [Saint-Saens : The Swan ( Le Cygne ) - Carnival of the Animals (The Original Version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b44-5M4e9nI)
> 
>  
> 
> I seriously want to thank everyone who read, left kudos, commented, or made fan art for this fic. You guys are awesome and made writing one of my very first fanfics not quite so scary. So thank you. <3
> 
> Epilogue to follow soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! <3

_1955, December, London, England_

Swirls of snowflakes gusted in the shivery night air, glittering against Charles’ hair, clinging to his eyelashes. He reached for his bowtie, adjusting it for what must have been the tenth time, his fingers itching with secondhand nerves.

The lights from the performance hall beckoned and he sliced through the din of dozens of minds frivolous and buzzy with anticipation to find Erik’s.

Charles found him anxious and pacing behind the stage inside. He brushed Erik’s mind gently and felt some of Erik’s apprehension lift. _You’ll do fine_ , Charles told him. He smiled to himself, fretting with his tie again, and startled when the valet called him _‘Sir’_ , sounding like he’d said it once already and Charles hadn’t heard.

Inside, Charles was handed a program and divested of his coat before being led by an usher toward the front of the hall where his mother and Ruth were already seated.

He was struck as he sank down on his velvet seat beside his mother, by the hall’s ornate grandeur. By its scrolling giltwood, its deep red velvets and its gleaming, high-polished stage set before a heavy red and gold draped curtain. All of it awash beneath the golden lights beaming down from a ceiling that seemed miles above them.

“Lovely in here, isn’t it,” Sharon said. “I haven’t attended a performance in too long. I used to all the time.” She gazed wonderingly around the hall. “Theatre,” she said, dreamy, “and music. I think your father and I must have attended every concert in London.”

“I’d forgotten,” Charles said softly. “I was always upset you wouldn’t take me with you. Why did you stop?”

She smiled. “Kurt never liked music.”

Charles said nothing. Behind the curtain, Erik was growing agitated again. The noisy chattering of the crowd had grown louder. Charles had the impression that Erik’s hands were shaking.

_Relax_ , Charles told him. _You have_ nothing _to worry about_.

Sharon read through her program. “He’s performing his own composition last.”

Charles opened his own program, looking over the 4 major compositions and several shorter movements listed as subcategories.

“Part I is Chopin,” Sharon said. “Oh, look. Ocean was always one of my favorites.”

Ruth leaned across Sharon to Charles. “Has he let you hear it yet?”

“No,” Charles said. “I’ve caught snatches of it as he’s gone over it in his head but he’s worked hard on keeping it secret.”

“He was playing at the house the other day,” Ruth said, scowling. “Shut the doors on me when he caught me trying to listen. He’s maddening.”

Charles smiled. “How is Brutus?”

Ruth had found a great, shaggy wolfhound wandering the lanes in the winter of the previous year. Underfed and sick, she’d nursed him back to health. He was her constant companion when she accompanied Alden on house calls or to work in the newly opened veterinarian clinic in Teignmouth.

“Good. Though he did try eating a fish whole yesterday when we went fishing.”

She meant herself and Sharon. Charles still couldn’t quite believe how much his mother had changed in the past few years.

“Foolish dog,” Sharon said. “Have you received word yet from Hank?” she asked Charles.

“Not yet,” Charles said. “But it won’t be long now I’d wager.”

Hank and Raven were in the midst of moving to Devonshire where Charles would take over Kurt’s education and continue work on the project Hank had conceived of that would amplify a telepath’s abilities, allowing them to stretch far outside their normal range. The goal being to discover just how many like themselves were out there. And to seek out other children like Kurt who might not otherwise receive an education. Charles on his own had already learned their numbers were greater than he’d previously thought. He even had a student in the current class he taught who could walk through walls.

He met his mother’s eyes. “You know if this succeeds, your house will be overrun with children, each one likely stranger than the last.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Sharon said. “That house could use more life in it.”

The lights dimmed, Ruth sitting up straighter in her seat. “Oh, I think it’s starting,” she said.

A hush fell over everyone, the attention of the audience fixed on the closed heavy curtains. Charles’ stomach fluttered with a fresh wave of Erik’s anxiety.

The curtains drew back slowly, disappearing into the wings, golden light falling over the stage and the dark gleaming grand piano.

With his polished shoes clicking the stage floor, Erik appeared from the gloom, standing straight and still as a statue before bowing slowly. The angles of his face sharp and beautiful and crossed with shadows, the cut of his black tuxedo impeccable, his manner appearing cool, the anxiety roiling inside him invisible to the expectant crowd seated before him. His gaze sought out and landed on Charles, his lips twitching into the semblance of a smile as he walked to the piano, smooth and sure, the limp of his left leg barely noticeable, and settled himself on the bench.

_Relax_ , Charles said.

That same semblance of a smile again as Erik’s fingers found the keys, his nerves all but forgotten, held at bay with the first romantic glimmering notes of Frédéric Chopin’s nocturne op. 9 no. 1 in B flat minor.

He held them under a spell, leading them seamlessly through one composition and into another. His fingers weaving together a story of sorrow and grief, friendship and love, the ocean and winter winds, forgotten dark forests and birds riding high on silver air.

The spell broken only by the roaring applause in between. Until at last he reached the composition he’d kept secret for months.

His eyes met Charles’, his mind ablaze, and Charles felt dizzying, impossible love wash through him.

Erik’s fingers sank into the keys and the dreamlike notes of a first meeting between a boy and a swan on a moonlit lake lifted to fill the silence.

For once in his life, Charles forgot everyone around him, and saw only Erik, the minds of the audience fading into the fog.

Erik made love to him the night he’d finished composing, and Charles had lain gazing up at the ceiling after, warm and sated and brimming with love. “Tell me at least,” he’d said, “what it’s about.”

Erik had smiled, kissed him on the lips, then once more over his beating heart. “A boy who fell in love with a swan.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [F. Chopin: Nocturne op. 9 no. 1 in B flat minor (Rubinstein) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtIW2r1EalM)
> 
> [Chopin Etude Op.25 No.12 (Ocean) (Pollini)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5M2PO4f5Y7k)
> 
>  
> 
> All right my dudes Tchaikovsky composed Swan Lake but for the sake of this story I need you to suspend belief and pretend it's Erik’s. Work with me here. ;) 
> 
> [Swan Lake (on piano) by Tchaikovsky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WlvXneu6oY)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "The Swan"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514973) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)
  * [Cover Series for "The Swan"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570182) by [Mellifluous Dreams (Eeverith)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eeverith/pseuds/Mellifluous%20Dreams)
  * [Art inspired by The Swan (chapter 9)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639587) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey)
  * [Art inspired by The Swan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153122) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey)




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